


Parasitophobia

by Fluttering_Shadows, silusaugustus



Category: Resident Evil
Genre: F/M, Gen, History, Las Plagas, Other, Spain, black death, los illuminados, spanish history
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2020-10-18 07:43:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 46,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20635586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fluttering_Shadows/pseuds/Fluttering_Shadows, https://archiveofourown.org/users/silusaugustus/pseuds/silusaugustus
Summary: Exploring the history of, and returning to the beginning of, Las Plagas.





	1. Introductions

**Author's Note:**

> This is a collaborative story, and written from different character perspectives.  
Anytime the perspective shifts, the character's name will be written in bold caps.

**LEON**

The snow was soft under his feet, but the gravel underneath still crunched as Leon stepped through the rows of train tracks. The soft white blanket illuminated the area and lent its contrast to the cold steel rail cars, meaning that he could keep the flashlight off until he checked the innards of the cars--a great tactical advantage. 

Yet, for all it seemed worth, the nighttime effort was fruitless. Leon could almost sense it. There were no footprints in the fresh snow. No growls or stirs in the deep dark of the forest. He didn’t know why he was still walking gingerly, tiptoeing among the trainyard...habit, maybe. He flicked the light on, positioning it near his chest and pointing it into the maw of an open train car. Empty. Even the toughest transient wouldn’t risk sleeping in one of these cars overnight. It was already well below zero, and getting colder.

His theory had been a good one, at least. There was a suspected plaga infection in the nearby town of Fox Hollow, Alaska. The place was so isolated that planes were used as transit more often than cars, and the only reason the settlement wasn’t abandoned was thanks to the nearby oil refinery, which supplied the local men with jobs. Leon knew that if there was some rogue infection present, it likely came from the trainyard, since the trains actually _moved _in the wintertime despite the snow. Canada had several chemical facilities in operation, but even those were two, three hundred miles away. To make it through that tundra was...unlikely.

It just all seemed very unlikely. That thought was also expressed by Leon’s predecessor, some biohazard agent sent in by the BSAA. Nothing unusual. Fluke. Misread lab reports. Some young gun in the medical department getting all jumpy. So they said. Leon was ready to believe it. Truthfully, even if someone had watched a ganados head explode and had video footage of the whip-tentacles slapping bystanders, Leon would have still protested this assignment. Furlough had not been kind to him thus far, and his jadedness grew by the day. 

He panned the flashlight around behind him as he half-turned, and clicked it off, looking upward. The night fog almost glowed with the nearby town’s light pollution. In the wash, flecks of diamond snow still flurried downward. He realized that his head was cold. Leon wore a suitable coat. Gloves, boots. His body was warm, but his nose stung and his cheeks felt fiery from the wind. Hats, when worn properly, covered the ears and obstructed vision, even if only partially. He hated the idea. It would have made him jumpy. So he just suffered heat loss instead.

The agent lowered the flashlight fully and flexed the fingers in his other hand, the hand that held the 1911. He thought of holstering it, thought better, felt the condensation around the grip. Instead, he pocketed the flashlight and looked down momentarily before stepping forward again. 

Suddenly, the air changed. There was something there. He didn’t even question it, merely lowering his brow as his head snapped up. Leon swiftly scanned the row of trains he was nestled between. On the other side lay even more empty track, then a short hike back to the car. No one was out tonight. But something was stalking the tracks, light footsteps on the trainyard gravel. Leon’s breath huffed around him as he breathed through an open mouth. His left hand came up fluidly, wrapped the grip of the gun as he soundlessly raised it. His feet shifted, moving into a relaxed Weaver stance. 

What was between tracks now emerged. He could hear panting, soft noises that melted into the snowscape. Leon’s gun momentarily lowered. A young wolf emerged into the walkway, looking curiously at Leon. Bewildered, he fully lowered the gun, staring at the animal. After a moment, another wolf appeared alongside the second. This one was larger, older. It met Leon’s eyes with wariness and something else--knowledge? Wisdom? It knew that he was a human. Unlike the young pup, this was a wolf with an understanding of man. And probably firearms. Snow was sprinkled on the coats and manes of the animals. Their breath fogged around them. One suspicious, one inquisitive.

He still gripped the pistol with both hands, but did not raise it again. Leon realized that the night was no longer quiet; he could hear rushing all around him, paws on gravel. Pants and whines. On the mountain nearby, a bark and then a howl. 

Suddenly, he was not standing in a sleepy neglected trainyard in Alaska with snow on his shoulders. He was in autumnal, rural Spain, with rain washing into his eyes. The wolves twisted and took a new shape, leaner, longer, parasites exiting their backs. They raised their hackles, salivating, completely mad, no longer calm, but thirsty for blood.

The memory, or flashback, faded as soon as he blinked. The roar of the Spanish rain ceased. Leon exhaled sharply and the smaller wolf jumped at the sound, not liking his curiosity any longer. As though he were in trouble for stopping, the young wolf scampered away through the opposite section of trains with his ears lowered. But its older companion still stared, almost pointedly, at the human. Leon tried to get his breath back to normal, but found that he had to gasp and swallow again. The older wolf simply turned its head away and calmly walked through the gap in the cars. For a moment, Leon was staring dumbly at blank space where the animals had stood.

_________

“Pancakes at 4am is one thing, but you’re dedicated, aren’t ya honey?” the stereotypical older waitress with her smoker’s breath brought out the second platter of pancakes, eggs, and bacon, and raised her penciled eyebrow skeptically at Leon’s flask. He smirked, put the flask away, and then sipped his coffee, as a chaser. She wasn’t kind as the ‘honey’ would have her appear; she had fire, and already lectured Leon about showing up for breakfast covered in snow at this hour. 

“Just warming up, that’s all,” he said with a sardonic smile, and she responded by scoffing and picking up the dirty dishes. 

“You’ve got the oddest look of any tourist I’ve ever seen,” she mused, refilling his glass of water. “Most who come up here interview with the refinery, but…” now she scanned his face as he began cutting the pancakes. “You don’t look the type.”

Leon paused in his cutting. “You know anything about an accident that happened here a few weeks ago?”

“Well, that’s bold,” she half-laughed, and set down the coffee pot. “Of course I do. Have you seen the size of this town? I keep the whole police force awake with my coffee. Well, all four of ‘em anyway.” 

“Can you tell me what happened?” His tone was innocent, inquisitive. Leon didn’t have much tact to begin with, but he was even bolder at 4am at an all-night diner with neon lights shining like orange beacons across the snow. They were far from the town’s center, far from the suburbs. The nearest building was a motel, and past that, the small airport. Everyone in this town was in bed. Inside the diner, the two were, minus the sleepy-looking cook in the back, alone. If the waitress suspected him of being FBI or CIA or one of the countless others he was always accused of being, she didn’t mention it, or care.

“Sure, honey. You see, we got the main road there, Sterling Pike, you see it? Runs right through the whole town, airport all the way over to the old houses. One of the townsfolk, his name is Mr. Murray, oh he’s a sweetheart. Anyway he and his son had been out, fishing I think, on their way back into town way after dark. You do understand it gets dark around three thirty for us. Anyway, it was well after sunset, they were on the pike as it crosses the wilderness preserve. If you keep on that road you get up into the camping areas, the reservoir--” and the trainyard, Leon silently added-- “Right along there where there’s no lights on the road, it was foggy they said. Just talking in the truck and going slow because of the ice, and out jumps this girl. Strangest part of it all was that she was wearing some terrible kind of clothes. I hear she had frostbite on her hands, that’s what his son said. Leapt right in front of the lights. He braked, but of course, the ice--he still hit her after all that.

Well, they both got out, grabbed her, put her in and went right to the hospital. We got a big hospital here, it’s cause of all the refinery accidents. Men missing hands and legs and fingers and what-all else, explosions and acid leaks...anyway, got us a nice big hospital for such a small dump of a town. My daughter works there, she’s in billing. They took that girl right away, she at least had a chance.”

“So what was she doing out there?” Leon was actually mildly interested; this retelling was far more intriguing than the manila folder Hunnigan had next-day aired to the resort he stayed in. Also, the pancakes helped the situation.

“That’s the thing, what was she doing? Murray’s son, well I think he has some kind of wilderness training, maybe scouts? He said sure enough she had frostbite from what he could see on her fingers, probably feet too. No clue what she was doing out there. Might have been a runaway kid from the campsite, but we’re in the off-season, not a lot of people want to fly all the way out here in this weather. The ones that do don’t have teenagers, it’s all a bunch of cold-weather enthusiasts and Swedes. But this girl, she was real young, so they say. Thin and wiry and a head full of blond hair. Maybe she was a Swede.”

“So then what happened?” This was the part of the story he’d already heard, but he couldn’t very well tell her that.

“Well, they drop her off. Call in to check on her next morning. They both had to go home, of course, family and all that...but I guess she was there maybe a few hours before a nurse noticed her gone out of the room. She just left. The doctors bandaged her up and put some fluid in her but she was by no means cleared, or even awake yet! They think she might’ve had some broken bones from the accident and were going to xray her when she woke up a bit. Nobody saw her leave.”

“Could she have got out a window?”

“I mean…” the woman’s tone turned condescending, as though Leon were a complete amateur, “anything COULD happen. But why leave a hospital when you’re frostbitten? How? Broken bones! How? Why?”

She sighed, returning the coffee pot to her grasp. “Anyway that’s that, the police have a BOLO in place but nobody’s looking because nobody’s missing. I suspect the wolves have gotten to her anyway, whoever she was. Some folk are saying if it wasn’t a camper, it was one of those girls on the trucker’s slave trade. They kidnap them all the time and those girls escape and end up in the middle of nowhere.” She eyed the parking lot suspiciously; there were several trucks outside. “At least, that’s what I seen in the documentaries. Never had it happen here. Poor things, anyway.” 

Leon was still chewing.

“Suspect you’ll want thirds then, honey?”

___________________

The mattress may as well have been the floor, but it was clean and well-managed. The sheets were scratchy but also clean, quite the contrast from the resort’s luxurious who-knew-how-many-thread-count duvet. There was no flat screen mounted on the wall with hidden cords; instead an old, small tube TV with a comically broken antenna was perched on the weathered wooden console table past the foot of the bed. Leon shrugged out of the coat and stood at the window, his arms crossed. It was still snowing. His rental--a Hummer--looked wildly out of place at the small family motel. It was the only vehicle not snow-covered, as the motel’s other residents retired hours ago and left their cars to get blanketed overnight. 

A large blue sign reading simply **M O T E L** was perched over the small parking lot, washing the cars, the window, and Leon’s silhouette a navy color as he scanned the fog pointlessly. He’d almost forgotten why he was in this town, and he was very tired. But after the waitresses story, Leon knew with conviction that there was no end to the circles as long as he hid in a ski resort twenty miles away. His mobile device rang from the coat pocket it was in, tossed over the full sized bed. 

He turned toward it, looked back out the window momentarily, and finally picked up the device.

“Hunnigan. If you can see my coordinates--”

“_You’re in the town’s motel_,” she reassured him. He nodded mutely. “_Good idea. We have a fix on the location if you do find anything there_.”

“I can tell you there’s nobody here who had what I saw in Spain,” Leon argued flatly. This wasn’t the first conversation like this they’d had. “It’s a normal town, unaffected.”

“_Leon_,” she sounded stressed. “_We just got the second blood test results back. They tested positive again for the parasite. As of now, we can’t tell anything more than that--presumably it’s a syntheti--_”

“Which,” Leon’s tone rose, “the BSAA have under control, and have experience with.” He sighed. “Whatever Las Plagas is now, whatever Wesker made it, what EVER has happened in all that time...it’s not what I was up against. I don’t know why everybody thinks I’m the plaga expert.” The hardness in his voice almost shocked him. “It’s FROM Spain. Something may have made its way here, but it’s not a biological weapon.” 

“_Understood_,” Hunningan nodded curtly. “_I’ll keep you updated_.” 

He tossed the device back on the bed. Leon didn’t know how he was supposed to sleep after two cups of coffee. As he kicked off his boots he commented to himself, pulling the sheets back, “At least I had breakfast.”

\-------------------------------------------------------

**ADA**

Gusts of wind swirled snow into the air causing fresh powder to sprinkle itself among outstretched tree limbs. Another frigid breeze would blow and lazily scatter the dusting to earth. The cycle repeated itself spreading the chill into the bones of every living thing this deep into the woods. Amber orbs watched the dance finding a peaceful lull in the circular flurry. She enjoyed the snow. The frigid air that bit her cheeks and the blank expanse of colorless flakes gave her a sense of true peace she rarely found elsewhere. If the vision was left undisturbed it remained a picturesque landscape. Clean. A fresh start. All scars, mistakes, unsavory deeds, and regrets were hidden beneath the glaring white. Snow was nature’s clean slate. She had always admired that along with the sense of privacy it offered to the earth hidden deep beneath it.

Ada Wong could appreciate the sentiment. She knew a thing or two about burying the past. Breath clung to the air in a fog as she crouched. A bare hand gathered up a clot of snow and she stared at it, embracing the icy chill that seeped into her fingers. She wiggled them, allowing it to crumble apart and drift back to the place she’d disturbed. A soft smirk teased her mouth. It had been too long since she had seen snow. Her soul almost felt refreshed in just the few days she’d been wandering in it. Few things were more perfect, in her eyes, and her stare wandered over the contrast of pines, bare trees with deep colored bark, and the pure white land. Such beauty in its simplicity; a trait not often found in her life.

A howl interrupted her serene thoughts. Back to business.  
Ada stood, black boots pushing snow into wet clumps around her ankles as she turned, and peered into the thick forest to her right. Dense trees entwined their limbs and branches glittered with a coating of frost. The snow inched higher on her legs the deeper she wandered into the forest. A sigh tumbled from her mouth and she pushed her way to the lump of fur she wanted to inspect. Cherry droplets marred the snow, leading her directly to where the color pooled out and soaked the frozen crystals. So much for the beauty of the land remaining intact.

The corpse lie half buried from sporadic winds, yet was still difficult to miss with its dark coat sticking up in matted tufts. Ada stared down at it, intelligent eyes gathering every bit of information they could. Its jaw fell at an odd angle hanging on by a thread, one eye missing and a gaping socket in its place, and the bones of its ribs cut through its decaying flesh like crooked spikes. The sight would have been jarring had she not grown accustomed to death long ago. Even so, it made her stomach turn.

She glanced at the pleasant scene behind her longingly before turning back to the body splayed out beneath her. An unknown liquid seeped from the open wounds and wove its way along the top of the snow.  
“You always manage to ruin nice things.” She murmured at the infectious looking ooze as she stooped down.  
Leather gloves pulled from a pocket were tugged on in quick succession. Another coat pocket rustled as she dug a compact out of it. The ivory cover opened, etching of a butterfly glinting in the haze that drifted between the trees, and she extracted a sliver of glass from the compartment hidden within it. The mirror lit up with white text as the device prepared to accept whatever she had to give it.

A hiss escaped into the air along with the stench of something burning. Vision darted to the carcass. Mottled flesh bubbled and melted, spewing forth tiny pockets of odor that carried an acrid stench that assaulted her nostrils. The body began to cave in on itself. The effect spread out to the pulsating tendrils splayed out from the remains. Ada wrinkled her nose at the pungent smell.

  
The job wasn’t always pretty… in fact, it almost never was.

Gloved fingers swiped at the earth, attempting to gather even a smudge of the substance on the slide, but the moment it touched it the glass began to crack in her hand. The effect crawled up the clear surface. She released it before it could singe her glove and watched as it joined the sizzling mess at her feet.

Her brow knitted as she narrowed her eyes. Another chance lost yet again. She flipped the compact closed with a resounding snap and tucked it away. This was the third corpse in half as many days and she was no closer to her goal. The only evidence of the wolf remained in the shape of a splatter charring the earth. How was she expected to take a sample for analysis if the damn thing corroded only minutes after death?  
“You’re an odd one.” Annoyed mutter accompanied a chirping vibration at her hip.

Ada turned, pushing her way through the frozen landscape to the shiny red snowmobile, and fished out the keys for the vehicle. Her phone cast a blue tint across porcelain features as she viewed the incoming message. Mouth twitched in the corner and she tucked it away, not bothering to respond.

A pained howl rang out in the distance as she turned the engine over. The Ski Doo Summit offered little smoke or sound lending itself greatly into her decision to rent it. Another howl pierced the air. Her spine straightened as she stared with a hardened gaze, listening for yet another yelp. A tilt of her head accompanied a smirk and she pulled the goggles resting atop her hair down over her eyes. Fur lining embraced her cheeks as she tugged the burgundy hood back over her head. Maybe she would have another chance at a sample.  
“If at first you don’t succeed,” melodious tone belied the frustration she felt, “die, die, again.” Snow kicked up behind the vehicle as she revved its engine and sped away, seeking the latest victim.

**+~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~+**

The old barn door squealed with protest as Ada put all her weight into pulling it open. Piles of snow scraped aside blocked the second from moving. The sound died out in the screaming winds that beat against her exposed skin. Rosy cheeks burned as she hauled her goggles off and tossed them on a rickety table near the door. Her failure to gain anything tangible left her mood as bitter as the wind outside. 

Shadows receded as warm light spilled out from an oil lamp set on overturned crates. Another three days, five total, since her arrival and she was no closer to finding the source. She mulled over the facts she’d gleaned from bits and pieces of reports viewed on departure for Alaska. There had to be a tie between a wandering female and the contagion affecting the beasts. Why else would she have been sent here? The Organization did not waste its time with lost children or sick animals… no. There had to be something more to this.

First, there was the matter of the young woman who had been wandering in these woods. The company had caught wind of a rumor that she held something they sought. By the time Ada had arrived the girl was gone.  
_Impressive, considering her condition._ That alone bothered Ada and sent her mind whirling. People did not tend to get up and walk away when they were at death’s door. She personally knew it was not impossible, but doubted very much the girl had any form of the training she did… She needed more information.

Second, the animals were contracting something, though it only affected the medium-sized carnivores. Odd, but a thought for another time. Their decay rate was unparalleled and signs pointed to some connection to a virus. What that virus precisely was… well, that was an entirely different matter and Ada had no answers for consideration.

Third, the town seemed to be unaffected by the tragedy and the condition of the wildlife continued to pass unnoticed. At least the latter of the third made a little sense. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the contamination and the lack of corpses meant it could be weeks, or even months, before anyone noticed. A sickened animal consistently wandered off on its own to die, leaving the town none-the-wiser and free from attacks.

Ada began to walk in a lazy circle, arms crossing over her waist, as she considered all the details.  
Had she missed something? Overlooked anything?  
There were too many absent pieces, an incomplete puzzle stretched out in front of her, taunting with its hidden message as she tried to snap it all in place. Soon her phone was in hand and she was thumbing her way through images of the last carcass that had denied her efforts.

_It can’t be a coincidence._ The nagging sensation grew stronger with every passing moment.  
Pulling up a short video she allowed it to play. Disgust sparked in her eyes as the wolf liquefied out of existence. Her recording spawned hints of memories as she tucked the device away. She had encountered something similar years ago. 

Ada stopped, fingers going to her chin as she considered this, and a chill that winter was not to blame for crept up her spine. A connection was being drawn, and she didn’t like where the lines extended. She required more information. Ada walked back to her Ski Doo grabbing her goggles and securing them, destination in mind.

**+~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~+**

It took Ada very little time to reach the hospital. Glittering snow gave way to the artificial glow of town lights. Almost every window was alight and she saw a line of cars parked along a side lot. The sight would have been impressive if it didn’t feel so out of place in the sleepy Alaskan town. Several people moved in and out of the entrance, some wandering off with their hands near their face as they tried to light their cigarettes.

She left her snowmobile parked a good distance back among the trees. No need to disturb the sleepy town with its sounds or sights. The snow was thicker in the clumps of trees and she opted for the many benefits such cover offered. Large flakes cascaded down as the weather picked up in the predawn hours of the morning.

Heat blasted into her face as the doors swooshed open, and she reached up to run slender fingers through ebony strands. The attempt to shake excess snowflakes free resulted in a mess of snow tumbling down her shoulders to the floor. Stomping twice she made her way to the front desk. Signs told her precisely which direction she would need to go.

Ada paused in her step only long enough to check behind the counter. Nurses were rushing through a hall wheeling a man with a bandage caked in blood. The fabric was dripping, wrapped around a stump where his hand had once been. The burly man was creating quite a ruckus with all his wailing. All attention was on him as everyone stared. All she had to do was time it correctly.

The double doors at the opposite end held no key, no wall sensor, no button of any kind. They opened from one direction only. The commotion still drew attention, leaving her to casually lean against the wall waiting for her opportunity. It came much sooner than she would have thought. A doctor burst out from behind the doors, both swinging wide, and made a beeline for a couple with puffy red eyes.  
One person’s sorrow was another person’s fortuitous distraction.  
Ada scampered through the gap before it slammed shut.

Empty hall stretched out in front of her, squeaky tile shining in the bright stretch of lamps running overhead, and she sauntered at a casual pace to the elevators in the center of the hallway. Polished silver beckoned, but she slipped on her gloves before pressing the button. A single ding and she was climbing her way up the floors. She took the momentary reprieve to prepare. There would only be one chance.

Fingertips pinched her cheeks and lower eyelids. Her skin puffed up and turned red and she rubbed her eyes until they were glassy. A quick tousle of her hair and she was ready.  
Two more floors. Ada leaned against the thin metal railing and viewed her reflection. Perfect. She looked as though she had come in on a red-eye flight.

When the mirrored surfaces slid apart it revealed the quiet floor of the ICU. Despite the remodeling the hospital had undergone only weeks ago the area was cleared of debris and all the signs had been accurate on their guidance to this destination. Another plus. If nothing else, Ada could commend the people here for their efforts. Obviously, the hospital would be the pride and joy of such a cozy little town where most buildings did not reach above a second floor.

A lone figure manned the nurse station centered in the large room. The ICU took up one entire wing of an upper floor. As many curtains were pulled aside showing empty beds as there were curtains closed to give patients privacy.  
_Learn to follow safety procedures._ Ada took in the number of visible rooms at a glance. _How many accidents do you expect in a town like this?_  
The amount was overwhelming. It seemed as though the hospital expected to store at least half the population at any given moment. Could the accidents she’d heard about really be that bad?  
_Instead of the hospital, maybe they should_ refine _the refinery._Humor glistened in her eyes as she approached the desk.

Ada stood, arms casually crossing, as she waited for the young man to greet her. His eyes were locked with the computer, but finally he shot a glance her way. Their eyes met and he looked back at the screen. Ada tipped her head and cleared her throat. Pure disdain twisted his features when he looked back up at her again.

“Uh… can I help you?” His gruff tone was far less than cordial. Brown eyes dropped back to the monitor as though she would leave as long as he was busy. Well, someone clearly had more attitude than they did acne, and _that_ was saying something.

Ada leaned against the desk, avoiding the full cup of coffee abandoned on its surface, and stared him down. “Well… Tom,” she kept her eyes from staring at his name tag, “perhaps you can. I’m here to question you about the young woman you let escape the other night.” His head shot up, so quick she was certain there should have been a popping sound from the force on his neck. The bulge in his throat bobbed violently. “Was anyone else with you on the floor when it happened?” She continued, waving her arm in a slow motion at the closed rooms.  
_What do you know busy little bee?_ Ada held considerable knowledge for most of the answers she sought, but she was curious to see the excuses the faculty would provide.

Tom’s mouth opened and closed several times, taken aback by the accusation that it was his fault she had fled the hospital. The calculated guess that he had been working that night was not unfounded, and his reaction told her more than any words could have. She could practically hear the gears turning in his mind as he tried to gather his wits. His jaw snapped shut and he jutted his chin out.  
“Who are you?” Suspicion twisted his tone.  
Short brown spikes wiggled as he moved, his hair coated in so much product it almost looked like he had dipped his head into a vat of grease. 

“BSAA.” She purred, watching his eyes widen in surprise, “It seems you weren’t very forthcoming during the last visit. I’m here to make sure things are done right this time.” There existed no hesitation in her response, only confidence and that no-nonsense tone that came with years of dealing with such situations.

Now, he began to visibly sweat. Feigning a bored look, Ada glanced at the coffee mug. Steam rippled in waves from its surface. He began to flip through a sheet attached to the desk and the more papers he scanned back and forth, the more his face began to twist into a mix of confusion and annoyance. “There’s no note of...” He paused and eyed her suspiciously. “Ya got identification?”

_Pity you had to get smart. This will hurt you more than it hurts me._ Ada nodded and reached back into her pocket. At the same time she shifted her weight so that her elbow would strike the mug on the counter. Aim perfect, it spilled over dousing him with its contents. He jumped up from his seat with a hushed curse, slapping at the scalding liquid all over his scrubs. Ada held a rectangular item curled in her palm as though she were preparing to flash a badge at him.

“Stay here.” He snapped, nearly spitting the words in anger, and stormed off.  
If the drama queen was as predictable as he had been thus far, then he was likely headed to the bathroom… at the other end of the hall.  
_Sometimes, it’s too easy._  
Units in the third and eighth alcoves began to beep and scream. Several nurses rushed past and one yelled for a cart while another crawled up on the bed. Ada knew there would not be a better chance.

Ada flipped the item in her hands around. Her phone beeped once and ejected a chip. Swinging around the counter she inserted the chip into the computer and began to type. Slender fingers danced over the keyboard as she dug around for any information on the nameless young woman. Once her screen displayed a confirmation of connection, she snatched the chip and inserted it back into her phone. A purge command blinked on the tiny screen. Absolutely no hesitation when she accepted the prompt. The monitor flashed once as the device erased any lingering trace of her access and copies of the files she had taken.

Machines sputtered their alarms and she could hear the flatline from where the nurses were scurrying around. Ada never glanced back as she made her way to the elevator.


	2. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Past sins scar thy soul and stain the path beneath thee

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will likely come moments where the reader may feel confused, or a section seems out of place. I promise there is a reason for anything written though it may not be immediately revealed. Please trust and stick with us as we write this story and have fun developing your own theories while waiting for each next chapter!

**LEON**

Fred was young--for a motel owner that is--being only in his late 30’s, but it was a family business after all, and his insomnia kept him active during the lazy third shift. He was deep into a Ray Bradbury novel when the stranger had appeared, throwing off the silent nighttime routine and asking for a room. Luckily, it was the off season and as usual, there was an abundance of vacancies. Fred only glanced at the man in the dark office; he was broad and stout, and had unusually well-kept hair for this time of night--morning? 

“Sure,” Fred had answered, to his request, and stood to pivot, reaching for the wall of keys. Behind him in the dimness of the room, the man stood silhouetted against the large open window. Snow poured down, illuminated by the blue motel sign. “Just sign the book and let me know how you want to pay. Smoking or non?” 

The man seemed run-of-the-mill tired, exhausted, and lost--maybe a bit richer than most, but otherwise much like the majority of passerby heading toward the oil rigs or doing god knows what in Canada. His vehicle was more impressive, Fred could give him that. After walking down the catwalk toward the first-story room, Fred handed over the key and towels. He had thought to walk directly back to the office, but now paused as the newcomer closed his door. There were some linens that needed changing from a recently vacated room...it wasn’t pressing, but he was already outside. 

The dark-haired business owner briskly walked to the end of the row of doors, opening the last one and tossing the sheets and blankets into a pile, which he then scooped up and exited with. He did a mental count. New guy in room 4. Family of businessman in room 6. Young couple room 10. He stood next to room 16, which had been occupied by the Inuit man. Wasn’t there another? Wasn’t he missing someone? Fred blinked, confused, with his handful of blankets. 12...wasn’t there someone in room 12? 

Troublesome. Fred was not prone to forgetting his tenants. Now he remembered with certainty, while handing the newcomer with good hair his room 4 key--the 12 key was not on its hook. Had he fallen asleep? Now Fred glanced at the parking lot. Newcomer’s hummer. Family in the Chevy, parked close to the office. Couple’s old Volkswagen Beetle right outside their room. Room 12 had no vehicle. No curtains pulled, no light on. Fred fished his master key from his pocket awkwardly, still holding the bundle, and approached the door. 

The stark realization that he’d missed something slowly began to fade. The lock did not give. He fumbled and the man’s eyes grew bleary. That’s right...12 was vacant. Nothing in there. He grew tired, and the act of pulling the key from the lock was actually a chore. The man sighed, staring at the 1 2 on the door. What was he doing here again? It’s late, he thought assuredly to himself. I should head to bed. These guests are fine at this time of night. 

And he did have leftovers waiting for him in the fridge upstairs. He turned from the door, shuffling away, wondering why his keys were in his hand instead of his pocket. 

_________ 

Leon had decided to turn the old tube TV on. He didn’t like the silence, was growing uneasy with it. He mindlessly withdrew the flask from his pants pocket and then looked down at it as though confused. 

Captain Kirk and the gang were investigating a peaceful planet. Their voices sounded in the room behind him as he watched the snow fall. 

_“What's the matter, Jim?”_  
_“What? Oh, nothing. It's just so peaceful, uncomplicated. No problems, no command decisions. Just living. "_  
_“Typical human reaction to an idyllic natural setting. Back in the twentieth century, we referred to it as the Tahiti Syndrome. It's particularly common to over-pressured leader types, like starship captains.”_

He thought of the trainyard, the wolves. The young girl. Leon had come across his share of missing, deceased campers and hikers. Death in the wilderness seemed cruel for a young girl. He wondered if it was true, if she had been a part of some human trafficking cartel, and got lost in the woods. In a place like this, that could be easy to do. As gruesome as the thought was, he preferred it to the now gnawing sensation he had that something was actually wrong. 

He second-thoughted the flask and placed it on the nightstand, kicking off his shoes and laying flat on his back. It would be daylight--or at least, Alaska’s version of it--in a few hours, and he intended to sleep. Sleep was better than mulling over his thoughts. It wasn’t a plaga, he’d insisted to Hunnigan. Was that because he truly believed it? Or was he projecting his hopes? 

_“Doctor...If we don't get to that deflection point in time, it will become physically impossible to divert this asteroid. In that case, everyone on this planet will die, including the captain.”_  
_“Can a few more minutes matter, Spock?”_  
_“In the time it's taken me to explain the problem, the asteroid has moved from here to here. The longer we delay, the less the likelihood of being able to divert it. Beam us up, Mister Scott.”_

_“Used to be a cop myself. Only for a day though.”_  
_“And I thought I was bad.” _

Leon was walking, holding a paper in his hand. The scrawled, disjointed handwriting was one of Luis Sera’s notes on Las Plagas. 

_“Great, the radio’s out.”_ It was his own voice he heard, sardonic. Younger. Leon looked up from the paper. Claire sat beside him, awaiting his direction. _ “...Leon Kennedy.”_ He knew what he was saying, wasn’t sure why he was saying it. Now he twisted, turned, the police car thrown into chaos, a gurgling zombie in the backseat. The fiery crash, once so detailed in his mind, blurred past him. Yelling at Claire. Meet me at the police station. It had happened, in his mind, hundreds of times. Now it felt as though someone was pressing a fast-forward button. 

_“CLAIRE. TAKE SHERRY. GET OUT OF HERE.”_ Horror crept on Leon. Not horror for the events unfolding. He had to protect Sherry. She was only a child. Her parents…. 

He heard his own voice again. **_“...that I take this obligation freely, without any mental reservation or purpose of evasion; and that I will well and faithfully discharge the duties upon which I am about to enter and during such time as I hold the office of police officer serving the Raccoon City Police Department.”_**

His right hand was upright as he recited the oath. 

_“....the Raccoon City Police Department…”_

Spock interrupted. 

_“Lock all phasers on that mark. Maximum intensity, narrow beam. I want to split that fissure wide open.”_  
_“You sound like you're cutting a diamond.”_  
_“Very astute, Doctor.”_

_“What, you supposed to be a cop or something? Nah, you don't look that type…”_ The voice was coy, if men could be coy. Luis was suave, even at their bleakest moments. The hand that had been raised for the oath was now behind Leon, tied behind his back. He could feel Sera’s back and shoulders as they sat. The smell was earth, decay, blood. He attempted to turn, to look for his friend. But Sera was not visible. 

_“Maybe..”_

There was more, but Leon refused, even in his dreams. He didn’t dream about this. He didn’t think of Sherry, of Raccoon City. He wouldn’t. Luis, Spain, it was all gone. He noticed his hands were still tied. On the bed, Leon tossed. 

_“I'm happy. I'm so happy. If it weren't for the dreams, my mind would be completely at peace.”_  
That was Captain Kirk’s voice. Leon held onto the dialogue, forcing a refocus. No more memories. Listen to the plot.  
_“I thought you no longer had the dreams, that you no longer saw the strange lodge which moves through the sky.”_  
_‘They've come back. They were gone for a while, but they've come back, and I see faces, too. Very dim. I feel I should know know them. I feel my place is with them, not here. I don't deserve this happiness.” _

_“Is it just me, or does everybody always ignore what I say?”_  
Leon fired a round, shot the zombie in the head. It fell into a heap at Claire’s feet. He approached the pavement, which was already sticky with blood. He stared into the eyes of the vacant corpse, noting its twisted mouth, lolling tongue, the red trickling from its mouth. Brains lay scattered in bits behind the skull. This vision was more vivid than anything he’d seen, almost a counter to his will to forget. 

I never say I’m sorry, he realized, smelling a familiar, pungent scent of whiskey. It was coming from nearby, the nightstand. I’m so sorry. I didn’t start this, but I’m sorry. And then it happened; he could feel the breech in the wall. His own wall, one he’d spent many years building. The simple face of one, one that looked like so, so many. So many bullets. So many deaths. Leon was screaming there in the dark of Raccoon City, not for all the dead, but for himself. How many bodies fell so easily from the other end of the barrel? Claire was by him, her hand on his shoulder, his scream turning into a roar. 

_“The people will be waiting.”_ A woman’s voice. Kirk's love interest that week.  
_“Why?”_ That was the captain.  
“To save them.”  
_“But it's only the wind. The wind can't harm them.” _  
_“The wind is only the beginning. Soon the sky will darken, the lake will go wild, and the earth will tremble. Only you can save us.”_  
_“But I can't do anything about the wind or the sky.”_

He saw something else now; a white room, heard the screaming roars. It was him. He was not in the city. He was in a sterilized chamber, beating on a one way mirror. Screeching so loud the glass shook. The face in the mirror was distorted, hidden. Like a corpse itself, covered in black vomit. The eyes were piercing and the screams grew louder. 

UMBRELLA?! He saw the sign on the door. 

And like that, Leon snapped upright, thrust forward from his dream as though someone had ejected him from his own cartridge, a bullet into the dark hotel room. 

He was covered in sweat. And now he felt a trickle cascade onto his lips. His nose was bleeding? He gingerly touched his nose, withdrew his weathered hand. Dark red. 

The TV lit the room; Leon looked to the night stand and saw that his flask was open. Had he opened it? Now he stood, walked to the adjacent bathroom, and began to rinse his face in the shocking porcelain white of the sink. He was exhausted, feeling as though he hadn’t slept at all. 

His agency, upon initiating the furlough, required a doctor’s verification to keep Leon's standing with the company. She didn’t even give him the option of a prescription. For his PTSD, she’d said. Leon never opened the bottle, but it had made its way into his luggage. He wore his disorder like his jacket. Warm, stylish, always close. Never before had his dreams found their way onto a job in this manner, and never before had he backtracked so far. Leon remembered something he’d said to Rebecca at their last meeting. She brought up Los Illuminados. “That was so long ago, I don’t even remember.” Rarely had Leon wanted to laugh at his own joke, but that was a good one. Totally wasted on boring Rebecca and Chris. 

“Not tonight,” he said aloud for no one, and went to his luggage container. Several of the pills and half of the flask later, Leon snored peacefully in the hotel bed, with no more dreams. 

\----------------- 

**ADA**

A mahogany desk stood centered in a corner with a small lamp situated to one side. The emerald shade cast green tints on the wall beside it, and the warm glow of its bulb created a soothing effect that did not reach beyond its border. The rest of the room soaked in a chill that was purely an illusion, though Ada knew better than to question what caused it. It reeked of arrogance and ambition.  
No wonder. 

Manila folders were stacked in what almost looked like an organized mess. The contradiction brought her amusement. Sheets of papers held together with little silver clips littered the surface. Photographs topped a singular pile.  
It teased her curiosity.  
She had only caressed the edge of the report when there came the sound of a latch clicking behind her. The spy didn’t even have time to turn, much less register the sudden rush that sounded like wind. 

A cracking sound accompanied her fragile body being slammed into the cement wall next to the desk. Her hands immediately went to the appendage holding her there. Leather-clad fingers dug into tender throat. She felt her senses failing as she clawed and twisted at the sleeve. Shadows crept into the corners of her eyes and the luxury of air faded to a faint memory. Blurred vision caught the glint of a sadistic smile, vengeful, and the burn of a death stare pulsated in muted colors behind obsidian lenses. 

Ada was quickly slipping away, though whether the icy tendrils were the loving caress of death or the damaged wall behind her she could not tell. Leather dug, pressing viciously, and a single arm fell to paw at her thigh. She pulled up her phone, holding it to the side, aiming the screen at the man desiring her blood. The vice around her neck fell only enough for her to find her voice, but not to truly breathe. 

“Not... e—ven they... kno—ow wha—t it is.” Ada strained to form syllables while the light in her eyes faded to a dull sheen. Painted lips tugged in the pathetic attempt of a smirk, denying him the pleasure of knowing her agony. 

The grip eased, but only for a moment, and suddenly she was lifted ever higher. Toes of her shoes scraped against the floor… and then sweet release accompanied a sneer from her attacker. Oxygen flooded her lungs as she gasped and coughed, landing roughly on the floor. She rubbed the creamy skin at her throat trying to lessen the bruising that was sure to appear. 

Breath rumbled up from his chest in an amused chuckle and that smooth voice clipped its words.  
“Your ingenuity is… astounding.”  
She understood it was not a compliment. 

A shiver inched its way through Ada’s frame. Fingers rubbed the skin where purple had faded. Her complexion had regained its healthy glow, but the muscles still ached from his iron grip. The memory floated away on the breeze, lost to the drifts that surrounded her. Ada consulted her phone again, the device bleeping an insistence that she had arrived at her destination. Caramel hues drank in the scenery, trying to decide if her gadget was malfunctioning. 

She waded through the snow pushing to the only outcropping of rocks that jutted up from the otherwise washed-out wasteland. The base of the mountain had a gentle slope and a sprinkling of pines thinned out the higher one went. Beige stone interrupted the pattern, begging to be investigated, and Ada moved closer. She raised her arms as she trudged through another pile that reached her waist. Strong winds tore at the surface, throwing the crystals into the air and against her. 

Ada’s hood fell, the fur tickling her neck, and ebony strands whipped around as she shielded her eyes from the battering storm. Sleet and ice were joining the mix, causing sight and sound to nearly be lost among the storm. Her device flashed and she shot it a look. It seemed absolutely convinced that she stood in the correct spot. She stood at the entrance to the woods she had investigated previously staring at a large wall of snow to her left. 

The blizzard was increasing in strength and soon it would be difficult to see even her hand in front of her face. Ada began to turn back. She would try this another day with a device that didn’t seem determined to put her on a wild goose cha--  
\--something gnawed at her, interrupting the assumption that the device could be glitching. 

Wall of snow.  
Ada twisted around and squinted through the veil of sleet at the way the snow piled and flowed along the base of the mountain. She studied its swirls and the way the wind tossed it to and fro. That wall did not follow the same pattern. 

Trudging back through the path she had carved, Ada reached out and pressed a palm against the barrier. It gave easily and fell inward. The rest collapsed with a muffled plop and she stared into a gaping maw that beckoned her. Nothing could be heard over the tinkling sound of ice, which was quickly building to a soft roar. The trees had disappeared behind her, hidden behind a curtain of flakes, so she pressed onward into the sanctuary. 

The deeper she went the more pronounced her footfalls became. The storm outside died away until the only sounds remaining were her own steps, her hushed breathing, and moisture dripping from the walls. Her boot sank as she stepped on an unknown substance. A disgusted look flashed across her features. Her boot was stuck. She could feel the pull as she tried to lift it free. Her breath hitched as her skin crawled and in that moment she heard a slithering up ahead. 

Ada plucked her earpiece from her pocket and, once it was situated, the small lamp sputtered to life. The miniature flashlight sent its beam cascading down the interior of the cave. It fell with her gaze and she stared at the muck creeping along the sole of her boot. It held to her shoe, latched on in dripping strings as she tried to yank her foot free. She pulled again and with a sickening sound it popped free, the goop puckering with a snap before settling back down on the floor. 

_A bit clingy. We’ve only just met… what is this?_ She maintained her composure despite the overwhelming urge to cringe at the filth. 

Ada looked up, peering deeper into the darkness, and noted how the gunk beneath her seemed to branch onward, becoming thicker as it went. She followed its trail until she came to a dead end. A single eyebrow quirked in a delicate arch when she viewed the back wall. 

The entire cave was coated in the muck, thick and unyielding, until the back wall was nothing but a mass of oozing glop and weaving tentacles that spread out like the roots of a tree. It dripped to the floor, steam rising from its surface, and throbbed in irregular intervals. Pillars of the substance stretched across the open space, winding around each other. Ada was reminded of a grotesque mockery meant to mimic a gigantic beating heart. 

This couldn’t be… could it? 

The consideration that she may have stumbled upon the source was interrupted when her light caught something that was neither stone nor slop. Stepping closer she saw a shapeless mass half buried by the growth. A crumbled stack of the remains of a fire were nothing more than ash and charred wood. Beside it a body was collapsed and on its side, curled up as though to ward away the cold, dressed heavily in furs and wrappings reminiscent of the Inuits over the mountain… but there was one thing very wrong with the picture. 

It was missing its head.  
Where there should have been a face, frozen over by death, was simply a tattered stump. 

Ada glanced around, expecting to find a skull or something of the sort, but found nothing. Ragged flesh rippled with the same throbbing black wires that spread across the cave. Its thick mitten clutched an item and Ada bent down to wrestle it free. It took a bit of prying, but when she stood back up she held her prize. She uncurled the crumpled paper and rubbed wrinkles away to its edges until faded lettering became visible. The language was one she did not immediately recognize, so she whipped out her phone. A quick scan and the device revealed a rough translation. 

_ Alasie, _

_I ---------- safely to town… but I fear I won’t be home again._  
_\----------- died before we broke --------- trees. They howled and acted crazed… Amaruq jumped at me, dark foam dripping -------- and I had to ---------. The whimper he made still haunts me. I sought refuge in a cave near ----------------. I -------- wait it out, let the blizzard pass, but…_  
_I won’t be coming home. Something is wrong -------- mountain. It has me and it won’t let go._  
_I can’t move, I can’t think. It’s a struggle to wri-----------_

_ ~U------ _

The scrawled writing slanted across the paper with entire sentences smeared away. The rest of the text disappeared beneath a layer of blood that soaked through the sheet. The only visible portion at the end was a single letter in what she could only assume was a signature. Ada’s hand fell to her side. She stared at the body, releasing the letter so it fell in lazy swoops back to the corpse. She filed the digital copy away to study later. 

The hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Ada turned and gazed at nothing. The wall continued to thrum with its alien pulse and the floor held a sheen when the circle of light bobbed along it. The darkness swallowed the glow and kept it from shining too far. She could not pinpoint what had caused the sudden suspicion she was being watched, but she was not one to dismiss her instincts so easily. 

“It’s been nice, but I can’t stay.” Sarcasm dripped from her words as easily as the slime on the walls surrounding her. She had learned to trust her gut and this time would not be an exception. Ada didn’t even have the chance to take a single step as a scuttling sound burst forth and something came leaping at her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, we apologize (in future reference along with past) for any repetitive descriptions noticed throughout the story. When we post to each other to collaborate an indeterminate amount of time passes, so we aren't always aware of any repetitiveness until we see it here flowing from chapter to chapter. Understanding is appreciated!


	3. Prying Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The duo continue to search for clues

**LEON**

“Thank you dear, for the coffee,” the older man interrupted, tilting away from Leon and toward the silver-haired, cardigan-wearing woman who now lowered the tray she was carrying to the small coffee table between the two men. They were sitting in the ‘study’, but from what Leon could tell, the room was primarily composed of an array of gun cases. Glass lined cabinets were lit from the inside, showing off an impressive arsenal; one case was primarily fishing rods. 

“Thank you,” Leon echoed, nodding to the woman and readily taking a cup. He opened his mouth to continue the conversation, but the maroon-cardigan lady had other plans. She stood expectantly, hands on her hips now that they were relieved of the tray. 

“You don’t _look_ like a government agent. Don’t you all wear black suits?” 

Leon scoffed in an almost charming way. “No offense ma’am, but if I had to wear a suit to work I’d quit.” 

“Well but who are you then?” she pressed, distressed. She eyeballed Leon, from his hair to his boots. “You don’t look like FBI.” 

“I’m not.” 

“Judy, please--the man just wants to talk, he’s helping look for that girl that ran out in front of our truck.” 

‘Judy’ chuffed with disapproval but obeyed, leaving the room and the two men with their coffee. 

The snow had turned to sleet after Leon awoke from his groggy, medication-assisted second slumber, and the dream of the night before was a happily forgotten dream before this drizzly day. His hair had grown short icicles on the walk from the driveway to the house, where he'd arrived twenty minutes earlier. The study had a large picture window overlooking the Murrays’ yard, and it too was covered in a thick layer of frost and ice. Anything more than several feet away was not visible, leaving Leon to peer out a large grey frame into the unknown as he spoke with the man who reportedly ran over a mystery stranger. 

“Anyway, what were we---...yeah, the ice. It was real bad that night. Usually is within any reasonable amount of the lake.” The man was poring over the coffee intently. “Full brakes, just had 'em put on…” he shrugged and took a sip. “Isn’t much you can do when you’re moving a hunk of metal over sheer ice. I don’t think she was hurt bad. Stunned, maybe.” 

“And you said you thought she’d sustained frostbite?” Leon mirrored the man and sipped the coffee. Bitter, black, but it didn’t warm him from the dizzying cold just outside the window. “Not think. I know she did. My son...Erik, he’s a first responder and he works on all the search and rescue teams. Even trains 'em. He is the one who picked her up, but you see---” 

\------------ 

“I did a rapid assessment on her before moving her to the vehicle,” Erik explained as he and Leon kicked their way uphill on the ice, traction cleats firmly attached to their shoes. “Which means I--” 

“You checked her for injuries that would have been an immediate threat to life,” Leon finished, jamming his hands further in his pockets. It made balancing more difficult, but dammit, it was cold. The sleet still stubbornly trickled past them in thin sheets. The agent’s grey eyes were squinted almost shut, and he was thankful for the long parting of hair that masked his face, no matter how partially, from the cutting wind. 

Erik, a tall, lean blond, cut his eyes toward Leon. “You got it. You work on a crew or something? Know your way around emergency medicine?” 

“Hardly,” Leon answered with the same almost-friendly chuckle. “The victims I see are usually already dead..in a manner of speaking.” 

This morbid statement left Erik silent and puzzled for a moment, until he pointed at a ridge that tapered off the main road they walked on. “Here it is. That’s where she came down and ran in front of the car. Anyway, like I was saying, I had a good minute to do that assessment and it was a wonder she was alive at all, she was suffering severe hypothermia.” The two men stepped off the road and into the deep forest, pausing to see if the cleats would hold up in the deep snow. It had mostly turned to ice thanks to today’s weather, so after a brief pause they walked on. "Dad's truck has a spotlight on it for deer. We were using it to cut through the fog. Makes no sense to me that she didn't see it, but I had a good working light when I was checking on her." 

He sighed, breath billowing around him, blue crystals on his moustache already. “Black fingers, black toes, her eyes and lips and nose were completely full of crystals. I thought for sure…” he trailed off. 

“But she was in good enough condition to run,” Leon mused, more to himself than the other. Erik nodded vigorously as though he’d thought the same thing. 

“That’s the part I don’t get, yeah,” he affirmed. “So did you want me to take you all around where we searched?” 

“I'd rather let technology do the work in this weather,” Leon shook his head, and then withdrew his mobile device. He pushed the worn-down button and Hunnigan’s face illuminated the weatherproof screen. “Hunnigan, Leon. I’m in the vicinity where an unknown female pedestrian was struck by a local driver and taken to the hospital.” 

“Is that our blood donor?” Hunnigan’s voice was echoy, metallic, in the heavy wind. Erik looked on in mild confusion. A wolf howled nearby and his eyes drifted toward the sound, judging the distance. 

“I guess we’ll find out,” Leon answered with a smirk and a nod, both of which went completely unnoticed by the female, who could only see the swirling rain on her screen. 

“I’m initiating a topography scan of the area as well as any unusual or suspicious readings on a ten mile radius. I don't think heat traces will be as useful...but I'll try anyway.” 

“If you can, include the old trainyard up at the quarry--other than this road I’m standing by it’s the only way in or out not blocked by snow.” 

“Got it,” a flurry of tapping keys was barely discernible over the howl of the gale. “I’ll have it to you as soon as I can. The storm is interfering with our satellites.” 

Leon peered into the looming forest. Almost as though he’d forgotten, he abruptly ended the conversation with, “Thanks Ingrid. Leon out,” before he again pocketed the device. As he stared at the trees, Erik stared at him. 

“So you’re...here looking for this girl,” the younger man ‘asked’ bluntly. 

“More or less,” Leon nodded, and then motioned toward the forest. “I’m going to guess that going in there isn’t going to tell me much, what with all the new snow.” 

“Pretty much. We wouldn’t even send a helicopter out in this, if we were looking for somebody. But listen, we’ve combed this whole area looking for her, thought maybe she was from a group or something…I don’t know what you’re going to find that we didn’t.” 

“Who knows?” shrugged Leon. “Guess we’ll just have to wait and see.” 

Erik seemed to understand that asking for further details would get him nowhere, so he simply nodded. 

___________ 

Several more hours of leads got him nowhere; Leon was beginning to get discouraged. Even worst case scenario--that is, this wasn’t a wild goose chase and there were traces of the parasite in someone’s blood--the girl had probably died of exposure. _If_ it was she of the sample, and he figured there weren’t too many Jane Doe blood samples that night in the hospital. However, ‘I figured’ wouldn’t cut it in his report, and Leon knew his next stop would be the hospital to speak with staff, then perhaps the local sheriff station. 

But first, a fresh, dry pair of socks and a warm shower. They were such a tantalizing prospect at this point. He’d been in this situation many times, and never took a hot shower for granted. Leon took a short swig from his frozen flask as he drove along the recently plowed pike towards the motel. The whiskey was bitterly cold, erasing all notes of flavor from the drink, and he grimaced. How was that supposed to warm anybody up? 

He was still preoccupied with closing the flask and pocketing it in his wet jacket as he made the final turn into the motel parking lot. It hadn’t been plowed and the vehicle rocked slightly as it slid over a small patch of ice, the anti-lock brakes sputtering. 

“Easy to see how their truck couldn’t stop,” he mused as he checked his rearview mirror, looking at the tire prints he’d made on the snow. Now Leon parked and frowned as he finally turned his gaze forward, staring at the entrance to his motel room. His frown quickly turned to an indeterminate, hardened scowl and he withdrew the 1911 in a single, fluid motion as he pocketed the vehicle’s keys with his left hand. They jingled against the flask, and the sharp note was like a rifle sound; he grabbed the keys and opened the door handle, gun upright in his right hand. Leon’s finger hovered by the slide and he exited the rental truck, boots crunching on the newly-formed ice-snow. Not quite as loud. Now he pocketed the keys in his pants, away from any noisy co-inhabitants. His eyes darted and scanned the motel front, sides. The small hill behind the motel. Nothing. No footprints. No light on in the manager office. BACK IN FIFTEEN the sign on the front read. Other vehicles sat covered in snow, their patrons presumably warm and unfazed and basking in the buttery motel-lamplight that spilled out the window onto the sidewalk, illuminating shadows inside the rooms. 

A tv was on in one of the rooms. A loud infomercial was playing. 

He stepped closer, gingerly, still scanning for footsteps. Nothing. 

The lights were off as he’d left them. The door had been broken, clumsily, at the doorknob. It seemed to be the work of a rock, he noted as he scanned the paint. Leon paused, back to the stone wall, and listened. His head canted to the side. 

Not a sound. 

Leon pivoted and turned, flooding the room in a white-blue wash from his LED flashlight. He scanned the vulnerable corners of the room. Beside the nightstand. Door to the bathroom. The light panned across the washroom mirror and reflected back onto Leon’s face, turning him a pasty lavender color momentarily. Behind the TV he panned next; nothing. The antenna threw large, dancing, spidery shadows across the room. 

Not a sound. 

He moved forward into the darkness, eyes finally adjusting, and cleared the bathroom. Finally Leon turned on the light and surveyed the mess. 

His suitcase was opened, the contents scattered everywhere. Leon packed light and didn’t have much in the way of personal effects, but he noticed that his hair products, previously neatly aligned along the sink, were now on the carpeted floor. All the nightstand drawers were open and even the TV stand had been moved, pushed aside as though it were hiding something. Leon quickly turned to the bed. 

The mattress was askew, the bedsheet torn half-off. 

Dammit. 

He saw the file he’d neatly hidden between the mattress and box springs, now on the floor, papers messily scattered. 

Leon reluctantly holstered the gun and slid his mobile device from his pocket. 

________ 

“No cops yet. I have a fingerprinting kit in the vehicle. I can lift what I find and scan it to you.” 

“Sounds good.” Hunnigan was stressed; her voice was curt. Leon noticed every tonal change. “Did you determine if there was anything missing?” 

“Only one paper in the whole file,” he responded, glancing over the paperwork. “Page 35, which is a--” 

“--figure diagram of the Los Illuminados cult symbol,” they stated at the same time. Ingrid continued, “That page is about the cult’s involvement with the plaga.” 

“Yeah. I know.” Neither of them knew what to say, and Hunnigan’s typing paused for a moment as she processed this information. 

“Looks like maybe this sleepy little town has a secret,” Leon stated, peering out the window, where it again had started to snow. 

\---------------- 

**ADA**

Shadows grew until they towered over her. The walls slithered at her back, shifting with whispering sounds as long tendrils pulsated against cold stone. Light shrank and fled, the beam flickering on her ear until she was left with only darkness, twisting away on instinct as a creature lunged. Long fibers and wet slop dragged along her cheek, leaving an icy trail in its wake and ripping her light from her ear. The sound of her boots scraping to a halt bounced off the stone cavern’s walls, and Ada’s head whipped around to glance back at the blur that had nearly overtaken her. 

Orbs glittered in the arc of light as her earpiece skipped along the floor. The sporadic flashes revealed sharpened teeth and a long tongue that flapped out of its mouth with every wheezing breath, and the gear’s path brought it to a rolling stop where its smoky light could illuminate both beast and ooze. 

Those shining eyes bore down on her as that tongue lolled out of its mouth again. Ada retrieved her gear, ignoring the little beast, and earned herself a few whimpers and growls. Its jaw snapped several times as it took a deep inhale. A gruff, despite being high-pitched, bark echoed as the young pup dropped down on its haunches and tipped its head inquisitively at her. Ada finally graced it with a glance letting her eyes wander over the wall and the body before settling on the pup that didn’t seem to be bothered by any of it. 

“You’re brave… I’ll give you that.” A genuine smile threatened to break free. She didn’t offer more attention than that, instead turning away to the exit of the cave. The storm had rebuilt what she had torn down, though only knee-high, and she easily pushed her way back through the barrier of snow. Claws scraped the cave behind her and the patter of little paws could not be mistaken. She turned, the light revealing a frenzy of scrambling limbs and frantic eyes. 

The wolf came speeding out of the cave with a yelp as though fleeing the depths of hell once it realized she would not be returning. It buried itself in a pile of white, failing to stop when the pads of its feet hit the ice at the entrance to the hidden alcove. 

“Maybe,” Ada’s mouth twitched in the corner as her eyes took on a mirthful gleam, “not quite as brave as I thought.” 

+~~~~~~~:~~~~~~~+ 

The office left much to be desired. Ada flitted among its contents. The lock had been unremarkable and she had hardly needed to fuss with it. Gloved fingers brushed the keys on the wall as her silhouette moved to the desk, leaving them to jingle and glint. A number of keys were missing. 

_Busy considering the weather._ Ada caught which numbers held no metal at a glance before she turned to the book tucked between folders on the desk. She plucked it up with ease and began to skim its contents. Names, dates, and costs were recorded in chicken scratch, the penmanship a contrast to how organized the information it held was contained. 

Onyx bangs swayed along her forehead as she turned away, dropping the book back where it belonged. Eyes squinted as something teased her mind. She pulled it back to her, flipping open to the last page, and ran her finger down the parchment. Amber pools glanced toward the key rack. The ledger did not match the board behind her. Despite the clutter, she doubted very much that the keeper would have lost a key and not recorded it. Even a sticky note plastered to a folder would have sufficed. It seemed strange that someone in charge would ignore a slip like a missing key, especially when each guest was recorded so diligently. 

Ada’s curiosity dug at her, along with having little to do until her next call, and she moseyed along to the riddle that begged for solution. Perhaps a little prying would reveal more about the city itself. At least she could gain insight on how the manager ran this establishment and, if nothing else, it would entertain her until the next report. 

Black fur of her hood teased her neck as she shot a glance back at the office. The ‘back in fifteen’ sign meant she still had another ten minutes to explore the vicinity before she would have to present herself to the manager and book a room. A better opportunity rarely presented itself. 

A whimper behind her made her turn. She recognized the wolf pup, no more than five months old, its gaze locked on her. Its appearance was deceiving, a smaller image of the fully grown adults she had sought, but its mannerisms were still that of a growing wolf. She ignored it and continued to her goal. 

The wind died down, leaving her hair a tangled mop as she approached the twelfth door. Black leather pulled through it, straightening the chin-length bob, the frame in front of her strong and in desperate need of fresh paint. By all appearances nothing seemed wrong, but her nerves tingled the longer she stared at it. 

The knob stared back, reflection crystal clear in its surface, until it was hidden beneath her grip. The lock was not engaged, a pleasant surprise, and with a hushed creak it opened wide. The only light came from a small blue lamp resting on the nightstand and the bathroom. 

Ada stepped over the threshold and stopped cold. A bitter smell made her nose wrinkle and it stuck in her throat. She could _taste_ infection, though she could not see it. The bathroom door sat ajar on its frame, the light sporadically cutting in and out. Overall it didn’t seem that different from any other room she would find all across the United States. A little spooky perhaps with that flickering light and stench, but hardly worth a second glance. Ada let the door swing closed behind her. 

_Cozy, but still uniform._ She ran a single finger along the top of the dresser and rubbed the gathering of dust on her glove. _Apparently, the tenant doesn’t cater to guests._  
A stack of papers on the bed drew her attention. A mountain of sheets were collected between thick pieces of cardboard with a symbol scribbled on top. 

Footsteps were muted as she crept closer to the bed. A drawing etched the top piece of cardboard, large and centered. Each stroke was broken and scratchy, thick as though the line had been traced over and over almost obsessively. 

_Is that… crayon?_ Was it possible a child had drawn this? 

No. It was too symmetrical and its centered position suggested the controlled hand of someone older. Ada stared at the image, refuting all the suspicions that nagged at her. 

The symbol would forever be seared into her mind, even without her impeccable memory.  
**Los Illuminados**  
Ada caressed the symbol, fingers curling after as though the contact had burned, and opened the makeshift book. The cover flopped to the side and she spread her fingers against the pages to fan them out. The meat of its contents remained in place, only the top few falling to the side for her to scan their secrets. 

_Lab reports, statistics on bonding and hosts, genetic factors... Quite the collection. Someone’s been doing their homework. Oh? What’s this?_ Her thumb caressed the cult’s symbol, the image’s ink faded as though the same motion had been repeated countless times before. 

The page offered in-depth details on the cult itself and the importance of the plagas along with their application. 

_Where’s the rest?_ Ada’s stare tore from the printed ‘35’ at the bottom of the page when she heard a scuffing sound outside the door. She folded the paper and quickly tucked it away in a pocket as the front door creaked open. 

“You should knock first, you know.” She teased in that silky purr, not bothering to look away from the papers on the bed. 


	4. Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a crossing of paths

**LEON**

Leon securely locked his motel room before crossing behind the office and ascending the flight of icy steps. His first objective, based on a hunch, was the towering structure of the motel owner’s home. It lay on a snowy hilltop, Christmas lights still dimly lighting the path to the wrap-around porch. It was a style typical of Alaska; log cabin mixed with old world Scandinavian charm, yet this building was somehow more reminiscent of an Edward Hopper painting than a Thomas Kincaide. 

The agent squinted as fifteen minutes later, he exited the mansion, convinced of its inhabitants innocence. Leon’s gloved hand pulled the front door closed behind him and he sighed; it was back to scour the motel area. Rarely was a hunch proven wrong, and these were precious minutes wasted. 

After finding the room in disarray, Leon barely had time to finish sweeping and clearing the place before the little “WE’RE OPEN COME IN” sign on the office door turned to read “BACK IN FIFTEEN MINUTES” and the dark-haired manager exited, climbing in his practical Volvo and likely driving to the diner all the way down the street. He’d done it twice this week already, and Leon had just confirmed via inspection of the fridge in the house that there was nothing but spoiled milk and some unappetizing fruitcake inside. Perhaps the cabinets held more dry storage. He couldn’t recall. Had the place been that unremarkable? He paused, uneasy, on the rustic porch, head tilted. 

The house had been weathered on the inside...dated, the furniture reeking of tacky 70’s, but it was clean and orderly, with no telltale signs of….well, whatever he was looking for. There was nothing there, and no one. Leon’s footprints in the snow crossed over his own footsteps from his earlier entrance. It was a creepy house,to be sure. He smirked to himself as he realized it reminded him of the Village Chief’s home in Spain. The wandering, meandering thought was forcefully stopped as he realized what he’d just mulled over. What a strange thought. What an odd, obscure thing to compare this house to. Why was he thinking of that place, here? How were the two remotely similar? 

Now Leon struggled to recall the house he’d left only seconds ago. The entryway, with its lumberjack decor. The living room, with the big old tube tv. The refrigerator and…..his memory was fuzzy. 

The tall agent paused at the foot of the steps and turned back to the front door, smelling a musty stench--was it that dirty? It hadn’t looked dirty. He’d cleared the entire place, from spare bedrooms down to root cellar, and apart from tacky taxidermy, there was nothing. Right? Why did he feel so uneasy about the relative neutrality in his mind? The agent almost backtracked, withdrawing his mobile device to get a video recording, when he heard a yelp from down below, a sign of life at the otherwise asleep motel. His head snapped to the side, grey eyes narrowing--it was a wolf pup’s playful call and nothing more. 

But he noticed from his high vantage point that one of the motel doors was standing open. Not his. A different door, shrouded in darkness. It was only open a crack, but Leon’s sharp vision caught the discrepancy, noted it. Noted the footprints in the snow leading inside. Noted that there was no car parked out front of this room, nor had there been any memorable occupant in the time Leon had stayed here. It was the room adjacent to his. 

A grey Volvo turned the corner, approaching the parking lot. 

_Time to move._

Leon jogged down the steps, boots crunching over hardened snow, and as he cut behind the motel, avoiding notice from his proprietor, his mobile device vibrated. Leon fixed his glare on the back window of the motel room with the open door, the only part he could scout from here. It was black, quiet. Unnaturally black, even, without the sheen of a frosted glass window. 

When he glanced back up at the house, the blond could almost see a fleeting figure in the front window, a small head, ducking. Another look and it was gone. With one hand in his pocket, Leon pressed a side button on the device, notifying Hunnigan that he couldn’t talk. Another vibration answered him. This was uncommon, and signified her relay of digital information. Usually whatever she had to say wasn’t urgent, and she would simply wait for his next available video transmission. Leon’s sense of urgency grew along with this new information, and he paused in his quick pace, skirting the rear of the motel, to withdraw the device from his pocket. His breath fogged around his neck as he looked down into his palm. A preview message was plastered on the screen. 

FOUND THE FINGERPRINT MATCH, YOU NEED TO HAVE A LOOK AT THIS------- 

The rest was cut off, but Leon didn’t dare get sidetracked looking. 

He pocketed the device, withdrew his gun, and sidestepped toward the L of the motel. The owner would not see him from this angle, and had likely not noticed the cracked open door. For the first time, Leon was aware of a smell. Was it him? He smelled must, as though an old lady’s jewelry box were right under his nose. Had it come from the house? Leon’s nose wrinkled and he turned toward the wind, happily filtering out the scent that carried down from the….kitchen? Dining room? 

_What had been in the dining room?_

He peered around the side of the motel, silent. A brief scan showed Leon two things. First, the door at the end of the row was still open, the cracked maw still black as pitch. Second, the owner exited the Volvo, carrying a plastic bag proudly, jingling his keys, and in another moment he’d entered the office. The sign flipped back over in the glass doorway. 

WE’RE OPEN COME IN 

After a pause, in which he allowed the man time to return to his desk, Leon crept toward the room. 

Footprints in the snow, coming from the opposite direction. From the office. 

Female, he decided, noticing the shorter spacing between steps and wider sway outward. But she walked quickly; in this depth of snow, had to be some sort of tactical boot or practical snowgear. What had Hunnigan found? Who did the intruder’s prints belong to? 

He steadily moved forward, gun pointed at the open doorway, and when he squared into the door frame Leon slowly pushed on the wood, a loud creeeeeeeeak announcing his arrival as he once again placed both hands on his weapon. His stance was guarded, but he did not expect what he heard next. 

_“You should knock first, you know.”_

Leon’s hand had already motioned toward the light switch--lightning fast, the room was blanketed in unsavory motel-yellow light, and he had his clasp back on the gun before he knew he was blurting out, “Ada!” 

He’d broken his typically-aloof response, and now Leon fumbled to recover, a snarl passing on his face and then quickly becoming replaced with a disapproving frown, as though Ada had stolen his last cookie. 

“Shoulda known you couldn’t resist the skiing this time of year,” he snapped, eyeing her from behind. She was dressed more sensibly than usual. The boots had belonged to her after all; fresh snow caked on the toes and a small melting pile of tracked snow was across the 70’s carpet. 

He tracked upward, meeting the brunette's eye level. Leon watched, calculating, waiting for her to reach for a weapon or gadget. He knew Ada all too well. “If you wanted an extra key to my room, you just had to ask,” he added, and now his eyes scanned away from her clothing and toward the bed, and the rest of the room. 

“What the hell--?” 

\---------------- 

**ADA**

The air practically sparked with the sudden tension that filled it. The sensation began to slowly ebb though did not leave entirely. Suspicion and trust battled each other in such palpable severity that onlookers would never have known which spoke the true bond the two held. Ada’s gaze remained on the papers she had fanned out. Eyes drank in every detail as she heard his tone turn sour following his sincere outburst. 

Ah. Some things never changed. 

She did not even attempt to halt the amused look that passed over her features as he spoke, though she did contain herself from rolling her eyes at his initial comment. As if she would waste her time with something as ridiculous as hurling herself down a mountain with a pair of flattened sticks strapped to her feet. There were better ways to enjoy the snow. 

_“If you wanted an extra key to my room, you just had to ask...”_

That brought a sparkle to her eyes. At least he had retained his sense of humor, if not his deduction skills. For being such an intelligent man he was often slow to catch on, or quick to rush in. It was endearing, though foolish, and so very him. 

“Now, where’s the fun in that?” Each syllable dripped from her lips like fine wine in reciprocal banter.  
A gloved digit trailed down a piece of paper, following the lines of information as she scanned for--  
_\--there._

Snatching it up she held it out to him as though passing him a treat after hearing his _"what the hell"_ and finally spared him a glance. Mouth quirked before falling into a straight line. The paper itself held photographs of the events in the ESR, and scribbled outside of the paragraphs were words like ‘unworthy’ or ‘failures’ along with several photos being scratched out. The only pristine black and white image showed the agent himself. 

“Seems you have a fan,” she murmured casually. 

She continued to read over the assorted sheets. One caught her eye, fingers stretching to move the overlaying papers aside. Blue crayon circled a chunk of paragraphs detailing information she could recall from memory. 

**_The Plaga’s success rate is highly dependent upon both the host and the way it is administered. A host may be infected one of two ways, each with its own benefit. Pacified hosts appear to retain most of their original personalities, while hosts that are agitated have a tendency to display a spike in their aggressive behavior._**

**Plagas Type-I**  
**_If administered in its larval state, the plaga has a higher chance of bonding successfully while placing the host in the 25th percentile for risk of mutation. The plaga grows within the host, reaching full maturity in a natural environment and allowing it to fully integrate with the host’s nervous system and musculature. This is beneficial both for the host and the plaga, as the host can either be unaware of infection or be convinced to desire it. The plaga is inserted via injection which also aids the process. It is bestowed much the way a vaccine is, leaving the host calm and accepting. This subdued acceptance is not found with the Type-II method. Hosts can continue living a semi-normal life while being dedicated to the host of the Master Plaga1._**

**Plagas Type-II**  
**_The plaga is grown to maturity in a controlled environment. Once it has reached adulthood it is then forcibly distributed via insertion through the mouth. This method spreads the parasite much faster than any other. Emotional and physical resistance is common, resulting in a higher percentage of mutation and aggression. Hosts of the Type-II can function and cooperate much like the hosts of Type-I, but are more likely to attack both uninfected parties and their own comrades. Many factors are taken into consideration during the process, including if the desired result is more akin to that observed in Africa or the Eastern Slav Republic. Data on these events can be found in sub-paragraph D of Section 3 in File P-T2-047001_**

**_1refer to 745.C-2_**

**_Contact labs 5A-7C with preliminary-----_**

The rest of the report did not interest her. She pushed the paper aside, finished with it, and flipped through a few more. Enough time had been spent in the room that she had almost grown accustomed to the odor that hung around them like an invisible cloud. 

“A bit obsessive.” She commented under her breath at the multitude of information. 

Annoyance flashed in her eyes though she appeared calm. Why was all of this gathered here? Who did it belong to? Was this related to the infection spreading through the wildlife? Her thoughts remained private as she stepped back from the bed. Small chunks of ice fell from the edge of her boots, leaving a trail as she wandered around the room. Her slow circle eventually brought her back by Leon’s side and she peered over his shoulder to watch the falling snow through the open door. Exhales fogged in the air as the chill from outside crept into the room. She could feel eyes upon them, the sensation familiar and unmistakable, but it faded as quickly as it came. 

There had been something she wanted to tell him, a warning of some sort, but what had it been? Ada reached up to flick her bangs aside, and tilted her head as she looked at him. He had not changed all that much since the day they had met. He still held himself the same way, his stare was just as intelligent and sharp, and his posture continued to remind her of the young cop she had first encountered in that cursed city. 

Her mouth twitched as she looked at him, until her stare fell to his shoulder and it wiped all thoughts away. For a moment she could not stop the pang that she felt. It was years ago, a lifetime even, yet despite not wishing to linger on the past she could not help herself. 

Her eyes glazed over, focused on him, and suddenly he stood in front of her with his blue uniform and the bandages coated in his wound that continuously oozed. The blood was vibrant, red and fresh, and continued to discolor the fabric as the splotch grew. Her heart forgot how to beat and her breath caught in her chest, confusion and anger waging war within her, and that bitter hint of guilt, just as it had when she had tended to him. She continued to stand there, staring, incapable of looking away. 

The setting around them had not changed, but it was impossible to mistake his police uniform. The embroidered R.P.D. on his arm glared at her, just as the wound did, accusing and harsh. Where there should have been confusion only worry held its place. Ada stepped closer, reaching out to press her palm against the wound, and her usual facade fell away. Concern swam in amber depths. Crimson pooled across the fabric far too quickly. 

“You’re bleeding,” she said as she gently pushed against his shoulder, her coquettish nature absent in her mannerisms. 


	5. Suspicions

**LEON**

_“Now, where’s the fun in that?”_

Leon pursed his lips and found, to his own great annoyance, that his handgun was lowering. He wanted so badly to ignore the black mold creeping along the walls, centered on the head of the bed--his own room had been outdated, but clean--and ignore what Ada pushed in front of him, to keep the weapon aimed on her, to be ready for anything, but it was futile. 

At the moment, his instincts told him that he did not have to worry about Ada. His mistrust, was, for the moment, unwarranted.He hated that gut feeling. He hated knowing that he could, sometimes, trust her. 

So, with an even more perturbed stare, he slowly and methodically holstered the 1911 and glared at her as though his bad mood were her fault. Well, it was. 

_“Seems you have a fan."_

Oh god, he missed her voice too. Leon somehow had the misfortune of thinking every encounter with Ada would be his last, and the time in between to convince himself he was okay with that. The scar had been cut open so many times now that the opening didn't hurt, it was just routine. His swirling, hidden thoughts remained behind the scowl as she held the paper toward him. 

"At least someone has good taste," he joked, a hint of real humor in his voice, but the would-be smirk quickly faded when he saw the paper. 

Now he scanned the edges, noticing the smudged black fingerprints. What was this stuff? It had to be the source of the stench. He saw his own black and white image, the familiar scowl on his face. 

Memories of the ESR wafted in front of him and he quickly lowered the paper to prevent the flood. 

"I'm too sober for this," he decided, and stepped to look over Ada's shoulder at the rest of the paperwork. 

He almost repeated his 'what the hell' aloud. This belonged to the intruder. He didn't know what to say in front of the spy, so Leon quietly read documents that he'd read, hell, some of that he'd written. 

_“A bit obsessive.”_

Leon nodded in agreement, noting that it seemed Ada didn't have all the information either. He was mulling, aggravated, at the realization that she was here in the suspects living space before he’d even discovered it, all while ‘living’ next door, but Leon consoled himself that he would have caught on soon. He had checked into the motel for that very reason, after all. 

Ada seemed to be thinking; he caught her gaze momentarily and it felt like one of those rare wafts of being on the same team. Just as quickly, the moment faded. Ada now circled the room as Leon eyed the photos, the trash, the bed. The wall. A thin line of black wound up from the corner to splay, almost like a weed, across the ceiling’s corner. He’d never seen anything like that, even in the dirtiest corners of Spain’s villages. The villagers had been piling up the bodies and subsisting on nothing while maggots ate what was left of their food, and mold had never existed like this. 

Finally he voiced, “This isn’t good,” ever the master of understatements. Leon felt exceptionally uneasy, and he realized with a jolt that he hadn’t cleared the room. Had Ada? The room was nearly dark, the lamp the only illumination in the foul-smelling chamber. The bathroom door was closed. His anxiety rose. 

His mobile device was still forgotten; he should have been taking photos of the scene, but the unease was welling up now, and Leon shifted his foot to look down at the brunette. He was startled by her expression; the seductive lids and coy smirk were all but gone as she stared, transfixed, at his shirt. 

Leon followed her stare, glancing down to see nothing impressive about his clothes. Just a black shirt. But Ada moved suddenly, explaining herself with _“You’re bleeding,”_ and pressed her palm against him. Leon could only stare, dumbfounded, for several seconds. 

Was he? His right hand snapped upward, catching her pale fingers and pulling them from his chest. Her fingers, save for the nail polish, were bare. His shirt was dry. Leon palmed the area himself--no pain, nothing out of the ordinary. 

He dropped Ada's hand as though it were hot coals, nearly electrified by the touch. “No, I’m not,” he corrected her, feeling very stupid. Leon’s instincts were creeping up on him again; the hair on his neck was standing. He paused, meeting Ada’s gaze again. 

She looked nothing remotely like herself, some strange expression that almost made her appear younger. He wasn’t sure how to proceed; the barely lit room offered no comfort, and he felt that it was important to move from where he stood. 

“I’m going to clear the room,” he stated, and searched her face one more time. Leon almost asked “Are you okay?” but foundered on the words, simply passing her swiftly to withdraw his pistol and click on the flashlight. 

Now the agent swept the light up, then down. Just dirty. Smelly. Nothing here. He nudged the door open and paused in shock; the mold was worse here. Leon didn’t dare turn on the light; the ambient light filtering in the nearby window showed that the stuff was...wiggling. There were small organisms moving, whipping to and fro within the mass of the shiny mold. Leon would recognize their twisted squirm anywhere. His jaw actually dropped and he snapped the bathroom light on. 

In the light, the plagas made their signature shriek, as though they were lobsters dipped in boiling water. Leon knew the sound, knew that even though evaporated trails of steam, smoking up like incense in the bathroom, made the place appear cleaner...they had been there. They existed. 

“Holy shit,” he said, backing up, moving faster than he would’ve liked. Now he held up the device, remembering Hunnigan. 

YOU NEED TO HAVE A LOOK AT THIS. THE FINGERPRINTS ARE REGISTERED AS ‘CLASSIFIED’ IN A CANADIAN LABORATORY FACILITY TWO HUNDRED MILES FROM YOU. THEY MUST BELONG TO SOMEONE AFFILIATED WITH THE PLAGAS, I NEED TO FIND OUT WHAT THAT LABORATORY IS DOING. THERE’S NO WAY IT’S NOT AN EXPERIMENT OR STRAIN OF SOME KIND. 

The blond's head snapped to the right, back to Ada, this time with no thought of hiding the intense stare of shock on his face. 

\-------------------- 

**ADA**

Leon's protest left her confused. She stared at the seeping wound where the bullet had struck him. Crimson pooled, staining his uniform, and she did not move to free her hand from his. Her action paused, hesitation blatant, feeling his warm skin against her own. It felt like fire, the burning lingering even after he dropped her hand and moved away.  
He couldn’t walk around with an open wound, especially one that profusely eked so much blood. 

Ada struggled internally with her motive.  
Objective completion took priority. Always.  
The injury would slow him down, giving her the opportunity to finally escape his constant determination to stick together. 

_Can’t stick together if you can’t keep up…_ She couldn't lose this chance to depart. Yet still she remained. Rooted to the spot. 

The act of taking the bullet seared into her memory and heart, unexpected–and stupid if she were honest–and shocking that another person would willingly risk themselves for a stranger, stirring emotions that she thought herself incapable of feeling.  
Guilt being the strongest and most detestable. 

His refusal of her aid vanished in the wave of nausea that trailed after the shriek. She heard him curse and Ada’s blood ran cold, skin prickled, and her painted lips parted for a sharp, though unheard, intake of air. 

Honey hues turned aside, peering with thinly veiled anxiety, not knowing what to expect despite recognizing the sound. When her stare fell on Leon he had returned to his normal state of dress. The uniform had vanished, along with the surreal recollection, yet the sensations of the past remained. They swarmed through her, twisting the placid surface she struggled to maintain across her fractured visage. 

The vision of the past had fled her, but there would be no time to gather her wits. Trouble was afoot. Ada would never forget that sound. The vile creatures had a habit of making it as they bubbled out of existence, melting into the floor until only a puddle remained, and she had heard it enough times over for it to still haunt her dreams. 

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat as suspicion and dread coiled deep within her chest. Utilizing every ounce of self-discipline she had formed over the years her lithe form sauntered across the room to join him. Her lapse in composure all but forgotten as her typical mannerisms took the forefront. Fingertips grasped the frame as she leaned in. Airy smoke dissipated as it swirled upward, leaving sheer wisps twisting the appearance of the goop that collected in the corner. Ebony bangs fell haphazardly across her brow as she tilted her head and fixed the spot with a hard stare. 

“I always hated their sounds.” Tidbit spilled in a sour tone that held a tinge of confession. 

Ambers spoke volumes of her disdain for the creatures as she turned to look at Leon. The memories swimming in her eyes were ones they shared, the experiences of Spain indescribable to any that did not witness them. 

Ada gathered herself, the sympathetic look fleeing her countenance, and the mask returned. Her shoulders rose back, posture perfect once more, and she stepped into the bathroom. Out of her coat pocket she dug her pair of gloves, tugging them on securely. Next, came her blade, silver and thin, gripped firm with purpose. She stooped down next to the disgusting nest of grime and ooze, intent on whatever it was that had captured her attention. 

Hissing accompanied the slicing of her knife into the pulsing blob. Her wrist made quick work of the barrier, and her hand disappeared beneath it. Fingers latched on the item she sought, and she pushed up from her crouch. Wiping the blade on the towel hanging from a bar, she tucked it away, her opposite arm bending at the elbow to hold out an item for inspection. She dangled it between thumb and index, the clothed pads of her fingers holding tight, revealing it for them both. 

The weapon swayed slightly in her grip, specks of metal visible through the thick coating of filth, as she turned so the etching could be seen. A look of disdain passed through her eyes, mouth twitching with it, before she gained that coy look that was synonymous with ‘Ada Wong’. 

“This,” gaze flitted from blade to man as hushed words gained a dangerous bite, “bears investigating.” 

A relic from the past spawned ill emotions as her mood darkened. The papers detailing the parasites, the sporadic infection of the wildlife and the victim lying in the cave, the evidence of plagas in the hotel. Lines were being drawn, but it was too early to assume anything. Ada studied Leon in her peripheral, as intensely as the item she held, gauging his reaction to learn how much knowledge he held of the situation. Jack Krauser’s weapon continued to gleam in the bulb overhead as Ada’s eyebrow arched.


	6. Suspicions II

**LEON**

Leon held his mobile device in one hand, his gun in the other. Right now he didn't feel like letting go of either, and his grip intensified on both. In an instant, Ada was beside him, leaning onto the door frame, the strange moment between them seemingly forgotten by both as they peered into the grime-covered room. 

_“I always hated their sounds.”_ An unusual tone for Ada, more vulnerable sounding than usual. 

Leon turned his head and they locked eyes for a moment. He remembered her strangeness and again bit his tongue against asking for reassurance that she was all right. It seemed she had been hallucinating, or maybe it was the poor lighting? 

"Yeah." It was almost spoken with gritted teeth, but not annoyance at Ada. Rather, Leon felt the gap between them lessen with his affirmation. Spain was at the center of his heart of terror, the middle of his nightmares...it held a place even more reverently catastrophic than Raccoon City, and probably always would. He wondered if Ada felt similarly. 

She shifted again, shoulders back to normal, face smooth and at ease. He looked toward the bathroom again, knowing that the moment had passed. Now what the hell was he supposed to do? Ada moved to inspect the area more just as his communicator buzzed loudly in his hand, and Leon pivoted, hesitantly holstering his handgun and pressing the highlighted button on the device. 

He stood facing Ada, and held the screen up so that no other details could be seen. 

"Hunnigan." 

"Leon! You look like you've seen a ghost." She sounded out of breath. 

"A parasite," he corrected her grimly. 

"I've reached out to that facility in Canada," she answered in a rush, "Nothing, Leon...no answer, no phone service. No website updates. I called the health department of the municipality and they stated it was just a medical billing and accounts building. I've contacted the Embassy--" 

"No," Leon said, remembering the train yard, and the wolf. "I know a way in. I'll make my way there--" 

"It's over one hundred miles and a country border away," she said disdainfully, and Leon's eyes flickered over to Ada, who was now picking something gingerly up--something that glinted metal. 

"If we're going to catch this person I need to stay one step ahead," Leon said adamantly. "The trains run all season, I can follow the tracks. I'm taking the rental back to the airport. Get me a snowmobile." 

"You could die out there, we have no idea--" 

"I do have an idea," Leon snapped, visions of the village in Spain swimming before his eyes. "I'm going to the airport now to trade vehicles." He mashed the button aggressively, and realized now he was panting, nearly as out of breath as Hunnigan. But Leon's adrenaline rush was paused at the sight in front of him. 

Ada stood in the bathroom, gloved hand dangling the dirty instrument as though it were a detestable piece of trash. His mouth was slightly open, he realized. 

_"This bears investigating."_

He wasn't even aware he was replying. "You've got to be joking." 

_____ 

**_She was being dragged now, by her protector. Against her will. He was spouting of the danger, they were cornered. They were found out. No more motel. No more investigating. He had refused to teach her of the blond man with the scarred cheek. The one who held memories she had peered into. The one._**

**_His hands were strong around her wrists, and even as her feet attempted to clamp down onto snowy ground, she was pulled easily along. He was close. So close. She could sense him, a like and kind life form. The parasites were dead, the one's she'd left behind. Light had killed them. But he was still so close. He must have stood near the mold...._**

**_Just one more look. It wouldn't hurt._**

________ 

Ada's arched brow seemed to insist that she wasn't joking, but as Leon opened his mouth again to inquire, held out his hand to take the instrument, he suddenly jolted with pain. Leon paused, mouth forming silent words, and he met her eyes with a sincere fear as he doubled over in excruciating pain, holding the door frame. 

It finally became too much to bear, every nerve on fire, every blood vessel about to burst, and the usually stoic Leon actually cried out in agony, stepping back away from Ada. His boots slid on the carpet, and he felt a burning, stinging sensation on his skin, in his blood. Leon gripped the door frame so hard that the wood splintered, and his communications device slipped from his hand to clatter onto the bathroom floor tile. He gripped his head, feeling as though it would burst from the pressure, and the room went black. 

He took another step backward and slammed into the wall, not realizing his eyes were closed. Leon groaned again, his black vision blurring. He saw the castle, a gallery wall, the garden. He saw a woman in the village, pitchfork through her face, stuck into a shed wall. Saw cave drawings of the plaga. 

The pain, abruptly as it had come, was gone, and Leon now sagged against the wallpaper, the throbbing in his head abating even though auditory hallucinations still haunted him. Whispers, voices. He blinked blearily, then caught his reflection in the mirror behind Ada--what little of it wasn't covered in mold. His nose was bleeding, crimson pouring out both nostrils, and more blood trickled from the right side of his mouth. 

He tasted it now, bitter and coppery, but Leon gave one final concerned look to Ada before slouching, palms on his knees. He had to catch his breath. He closed his eyes, willing back the imagery, but it was gone. Leon was left staring at the carpet, watching as a drop of blood stained the brown a darker brown. 

\----------------- 

**ADA**

Ada continued to hold the knife as though it were an insect between forefinger and thumb.  
_As if things weren’t complicated enough._ Her expression nearly puckered with distaste at the thought.  
The blade would always be something etched into her memory as securely as anything else in her past. Having an iron trap for a mind was not always a blessing. She caught Leon’s inquisitive, if appalled, stare and his palm raising to take the weapon. Her own arm stretched toward him preparing to drop it like the disgusting piece of metal she felt it to be. 

Just as quickly her appendage snatched back. He stumbled backward, clearly struggling with something unseen. Concern knitted her brow and eyes sparkled with unspoken emotions. His face contorted in… pain? She had glimpsed fear in those blues she knew so well. Despite her efforts to remain detached the sudden affliction caused her heart to leap into her throat before being dragged down to the depths of her stomach. 

Too much time.  
Not enough.  
So many years together.  
All the time apart. 

Ada Wong could count on a single hand without all her fingers the number of times she had witnessed such raw fear staring back at her from Leon’s intense gaze. The sincerity of the emotion left her speechless and nearly gaping as he doubled over. Thoughts snapped from concern for him to her own safety when wood splintered in his hands. 

Her foot slid backward, sticking slightly in the moldy substance growing in abundance, and the knife flipped in her gloved digits. A sour taste built in the back of her throat as her breathing slowed. Pupils dilated as adrenaline pumped through her, though outwardly she appeared still as the snow outside. A similar moment flashed through her mind. His hands on her throat, air a forgotten luxury, the desperation she had felt when her release had come only from the sleek edge of a blade embedded in his thigh. She did not relish the idea of another confrontation, but she would not be caught off guard again. 

Once bitten, twice shy… or 'prepared' as she preferred to think. 

_Don’t. Please. Don’t do this. Not again._ Silent pleas would remain buried within, stifled by her self-control and refusal to allow a glimpse into her own thoughts. Only she would be privy to those no matter what existed between them. She prepared herself for the worst. 

As quickly as it had struck it seemed to disappear. The only evidence of his lapse, whatever it had been, rolled down his face in crimson dribbles. Caramels narrowed and she almost moved forward to put a hand on his shoulder, but she refrained with a great amount of control. 

Ada was not a fool and to think that it had passed so quickly without any sort of residual effect would be horrendously presumptuous on her part; a trait she was not willing to indulge considering the past. 

Instead, her slender frame moved to the only towel hanging from a gleaming silver bar. The cloth held a thick coating of dust, but otherwise would be the only item worthy of the term ‘clean’, and wiped the blade in her hands clear of the gunk coating its surface. Once it shimmered, a shadow of its former self but still better than it had been, she turned and waited for him to gather his wits. 

_Sorry, Leon._  
Enough lingering. She had a mission to complete and he was being far more distracting than in the past. The longer she stayed the less she desired to leave. A compromising position she could not afford no matter how much history existed between them. She pushed past him, placing the dagger flat against his chest as though a parting gift, words thrown over her shoulder. 

“A souvenir.” She teased as though it were vacation.  
What he wouldn’t see was the conflict swimming in her eyes as she forced herself to leave him in this state. The sooner she had answers, the better she would know what she was facing. 

It would be beneficial for both of them, she tried to convince herself. 

Attachments have no place in this line of work, she reminded herself. 

Now if only she could believe herself as easily as she spouted the lines in her head. 

It was always easier when they could simply quip at each other. Seeing him in so much pain, panting for breath, clearly losing a battle she could not imagine… it created a risk she couldn’t allow. 

In a rush of burgundy cloth she was whisking through the door and out into the snow. Once in the sanctity of the frigid air she expelled the breath she had been holding. Why did he have to make it so damn difficult sometimes? She had chosen her path long ago. Long legs swept her along the blanket of white as she broke into a graceful run. Soon the gleam of her red transport came within sight. Black gloves grasped her goggles and pulled them down, her hood yanked around her hair to protect from the brutal wind that had kicked up without warning. 

Ada jumped on, turning the ignition, and disappeared in a flying blanket of snow. It had not taken long for her to put Leon’s statements together and plan a destination. While she did not have an exact location it shouldn’t be hard to find considering the railroad wouldn’t stray from its linear path for too long. 

Bangs and blood continued to plague her mind until she squashed it down. She could worry about him later. Right now, she needed answers. 

\--- 

Trees zipped by, mountain looming in the distance growing ever closer, and the wind bit into her exposed cheeks leaving red streaks like smeared rouge. The tracks nearly disappeared in the aftermath of the blizzard that continued to bombard the sleepy town, but its old metal peeked through enough for her to follow the trail. How long she had been riding she could not say, though the scenery had changed enough for her to know that she was well beyond the borders of the town she had left behind. 

Snow piled in front of her and she maneuvered around it, unwilling to chance being stuck in a drift if it proved too thick, and she looked for any sign that she was getting closer to her goal. The trees thickened up ahead but the rails cut a clear path between them with plenty of space for her transport. 

Ada’s nerves prickled unexpectedly and her stare shot back and forth. Years had forced upon her an instinct so keen that it rarely failed her… but what could have caused it? There didn’t seem to be any—  
—her body went flying as a blob of muscle and fur hit her with full force. 

She landed in a pile of snow and ice, her senses abandoning her to the cruel vertigo left in their place, and she sputtered spitting out snow tinted red. As quickly as she had landed, she was flipping up and turning to face what had caused the accident. Gloved hand reached up to swipe at her mouth, leaving a trail of red along creamy skin and black leather. Her snowmobile revved violently as it veered into the trees and flipped on its side, engine struggling to push it forward but finding no resistance. 

Ambers sought her attacker… and when she found it she felt a flicker that was more annoyance than fear. She didn't have time for this. 

The bear stood on its hind legs, watching her, its muzzle drenched in blood and the black ooze she had come to detest. Chunks that could only have been its last victim dripped from its claws and its fur bristled as it locked its beady eyes on her. A glaze had overcome them, the film turning them milky, but she harbored no illusions that it was blind. It could see her as clearly as she stared back at it. 

For a single moment time stood still. The air crackled with tension and even the wind fell silent in awe of their stand off. Its grunts and muffled growls churned the air with every breath that huffed in front of its face. Her own exhales gathered at her neck, clinging to the fur on her hood like morning dew, and her boots slid in the snow as she lowered her stance in preparation. 

Time resumed as it fell to all fours and became a rolling mass of pure muscle and rage aiming straight for her. 


	7. Blood Trail

**LEON**

Contrary to his question, she wasn’t kidding. Leon was still steadying his breath when she moved, and he blinked slowly, as if to will the pain from his stinging eyes. He knew what was coming next, and though he couldn’t see his reflection in the dingy mirror, he knew that his jaw was ticking. Leon touched his index finger to his nostrils, feeling the dampness of the lingering nosebleed, and Ada’s soft steps were drowned out by a distant ringing in his ears. Hastily he dropped his head again, wiping the bloody lip on his leather glove, closing his eyes. He couldn’t stand yet. 

And somehow despite that alarming revelation, the worst part was that Ada was here. Leon realized it was better for him that she were here, versus practically anyone else, but...couldn’t a guy have a terrifying unexplainable blood-coughing episode in peace? Just as he grimly mused over the idea, she moved to pass him, and Leon pursed his lips in a knowing, grim expression, glaring at the brunette when she pushed the knife toward him. He clasped his hand over hers, just as she released her grip on the knife. Its weight was more than he expected, suddenly heavy, and with the realness of the blade he, for the first time, grasped the severity and strangeness of the situation without any forced memories of the rural Spanish forest to interrupt. 

Rigid, Leon righted himself as she muttered, _"a souvenir.”_

She was already past him and Leon pivoted on his heel, painfully, every motion performed in a slow, hungover manner. She was moving toward the door. Leon lowered the knife, forcing himself to continue standing upright despite the reeling in his head. He tasted metal in his throat, couldn’t swallow. He attempted to will a witty, sarcastic comment, but couldn’t, either due to the lump in his throat or the almost desperate annoyance at her leaving. 

“Ada--” he muttered, but the door was already open, she was already scooped away by the snow blowing past. The shock of cold air hit him and seemed to do little to revive the agent, but after several long, steady breaths and an awkwardly quiet moment staring at the remnants of las plagas in the room, Leon spun the knife around his finger and unsteadily followed her footsteps out into the daylight. 

Not half an hour later, Leon’s stumble was a brisk, purposeful walk as he exited his motel room for the last time, as the swarm of police, SWAT, BSAA, and FBI at the motel caused the young owner, Fred, to howl in protest as they tore apart every room looking for more evidence. Leon had given his statement. He’d sent the photographs. He was done here. He carried a duffel slung over his back, the obvious outline of several large weapons not hidden in its appearance. Strapped to his chest, hidden under the heavy down ski coat was his newly acquired knife. 

Hunnigan was in his ear piece. “....shouldn’t alert the department to this potential hiding location? I don’t know if you’ll reach it before--” 

“No, keep it quiet,” he responded as he slung the bag in the jeep and hurled himself upward after it. “Bad enough that they had to come test this town. If anybody stayed behind here, they’re scared off for sure now. Whatever evidence we could’ve had...it’s gone.” Why did he sound reassured by that? 

“Okay, so are you World’s Greatest Detective Bruce Wayne now?” Hunngian was teasing, a hint of a smile in her voice. 

“Maybe,” Leon responded with a smile in his own. 

Hunnigan sniffed and resumed her businesslike tone. “Well, sorry to burst your coup...but we have to make sure that there are no active parasites or parasite hybrids in the residential area.” This time, Leon didn’t answer. He was driving, perhaps recklessly, toward the rental store. The town boasted little in the way of tourism, but Leon had already seen their array of snow equipment. The snowmobile he had his eye on was ready and waiting for him, but he mentioned to Hunnigan anyway, “Just tell them to charge whatever they want for it to my card. It’s not coming back.” 

“Leon,” she stated in an almost motherly tone, but second guessed her own choice to try to change his mind, “.........Just…..make sure you pick up extra fuel. Depending on the route you take and the level of snow that accumulates, it could be tomorrow before you make it up there.” 

“Good thing the sun doesn’t fully set here, huh?” he joked, a faraway voice in his head muttering about vacation. 

_________ 

It had finally happened. Leon sacrificed style for comfort, but just barely. The helmet was undoubtedly ‘cool’ looking, let alone the most expensive one in the shop, but he was dissatisfied, as it covered his hair, gave him blind spots, and muffled his hearing. Had it been any warmer and less snowy, Leon would have gone with a pair of earmuffs instead. The helmet visor was polarized, so he could see quite well in the torrential flurry. The snowmobile was light, with a frame of of carbide and made for speed, so the trees zipped by in a blur as he followed the line of tracks. 

A flash of grey in the trees to his left gave Leon pause; he took his right hand off the handgrip and uneasily moved it toward the shotgun holstered on the snowmobile, positioned at his hip. A moment later and the flash of grey bounded past him, but he saw more in the distance, catching glimpses like leaping fish out of water. Leon turned his head as far as the helmet would allow, scanning the trees, but the animals bounded along in snowdrifts and between trees, easily able to hide from his apprehensive stare. 

He heard a howl on the wind, through his helmet, and Leon was surprised at the sheer speed of the wolf that rushed him shortly after. He lifted a boot and kicked, pushing the animal away, and glanced in wonder at the speedometer. He was going nearly sixty miles per hour. How was this wolf keeping up with him? 

Leon wouldn’t have to wonder much longer as the animal suddenly transformed, a small plaga erupting from its mouth instead of from the spine, as the wolves in Spain endured. Leon favored his handgun over the shotgun, and while painstakingly keeping the snowmobile going straight, Leon flung his right hand, gripping the shotgun, forward, firing off several rounds into the snow. One hit, and the wolf yelped. 

He was faster than them, he had to be. Leon had no desire to match strength with parasite-infested wolves here in the middle of nowhere; his own GPS had failed at least twenty miles back, alerting him to “reroute for traffic” over and over as he dragged the snowmobile over a frozen creek. It was the railroad or nothing for navigation, and veering off course to appease the local wildlife was a bad idea. He would have to be faster than them. 

Leon gunned the snowmobile, pushing it to the limit and trying to brush off the chorus of howls that grew more and more distant as he drove. The snowmobile was basically gliding on top of the snow due to his speed, and he should have felt more relaxed when the forest grew quieter. His uneasiness didn’t settle, however, and Leon saw why as he did a double-take; ahead the trees broke into a large clearing, and he saw deep crimson staining the snow and trees. Blood littered the once-white circle, and the hum of another engine caught his ears immediately. 

Leon braked hard, snow spitting up behind him, but he was going far too fast; Ada had taken the same route ahead of him, and now the packed down path was slippery, icy; he skidded right into the clearing and had mere seconds to size up the scene; Ada, glaring down what he first took for a furry car, but no, it was a bear, and the source of all the spilled blood in the area. He was still trying to brake, the nonskids stuttering to do their best, but even with this resistance he was headed right for her crashed snowmobile which lay idling on its side.. maybe fifty, forty, thirty feet now. 

As Leon passed the woman, he did the only thing that made sense, reaching forward and yanking Ada back by her coat, tossing her unceremoniously onto the snowmobile behind him. There was only room for one, but he was standing, and now they crashed into the other snowmobile, sending it tumbling across the clearing. Luckily, the pair weighed down Leon’s vehicle and they did not flip, but the empty snowmobile did, barrel rolling toward the end of the clearing. The throttle snapped on a turn, gunning the engine and all but slingshotting the unmanned mobile forward as though it were driven by a ghost. 

Even the bear paused to watch its flight across the snow, which ended abruptly when it flew off a cliff, and that’s when Leon noticed--...there was a cliff. He could see a sparkling lake below, maybe a thousand feet in the distance--it might as well have been another planet, the transport skidding to a stop. The railroad tracks loomed behind them, setting a very cramped stage. Leon grabbed the shotgun, turned, and fired. 

The bear didn’t even blink, but roared, saliva and blood dripping from its muzzle, and Leon neglected to notice that he’d moved protectively in front of Ada. He leapt forward, shooting again, and the bear picked up speed. 

Two more shots. Barely a flinch. He was going to have to reload. It wasn’t even BLEEDING yet. He turned back to the snowmobile, eyeing a rifle with a grenade launcher attachment, but before Leon could consider, he heard more howls and as he faced the animal again, rifle deftly in his hands, he saw that miraculously, the wolves were attacking the bear. Black mold spewed from the bear’s mouth, looking like obscene vomit. Where it landed on the wolves, it sizzled and stank. The plagas whipped madly at this, seeming to take personal insult. It was, Leon realized, like watching two biohazards at war. These were not the first wolves that had attacked. 

They were likely the source of the blood from earlier; only now did he see several carcasses laying in the deep red snow. He heard the familiar whip of tentacles; the host wolves may have been dead, but their parasites were still alive and searching. From the direction he’d come, Leon heard the blare of a train horn, and he shouldered the rifle. But now the bear roared again, tearing another wolf to shreds, and stood on its hind legs. Leon’s mouth opened in a thin expression of disbelief as he realized this was a Kodiak bear, largest of the brown bears, and it towered over him by at least six feet. A fleeting memory of El Gigante crossed Leon’s mind, and he moved toward the back of the snowmobile as the bear flung another wolf from its torso. 

“Watch out,” he yelled in the roaring wind to Ada, and Leon finally, disgruntled, tore the helmet off before lugging one of the full jerry cans from the saddlebag of the snowmobile. It was heavy, and he propped it on his knee before swiftly reaching into his coat. “Distract it,” he barked unnecessarily in Ada’s direction, wind whipping his hair into his eyes spitefully. Leon reached across his vest and pulled out Krauser’s knife, using it to stab a large hole in the side of the plastic can. 

The bear was done being distracted, and now it stood only fifteen feet away. Leon was spilling gasoline all over his pant leg, but the thick insulation prevented him from feeling any sensation. Fumes were strong as he lug-tossed the can into the bear’s path, and the train horn sounded, much closer this time. Leon hopped back onto the seat. He pivoted and pressed something into Ada’s hand, showing once again how possibly unwise and vulnerable he was--the egg-shaped incendiary grenade was now hers-- and he nodded once before warning, “Hang on!” as he again gunned the engine. 

The pair on the snowmobile suddenly gained an extra ten feet, now fifteen, but Leon’s naive trust in Ada and his scarce watch of her was completely forgotten as he saw a white, shining light approach from behind--behind the wolves, behind the bear. It was coming fast, and he frantically searched his own weapons stash and utility belt, thinking as quickly as the train’s approach. 

A red-orange flash lit up the snow and an explosion nearly rocked him off the snowmobile as Ada’s grenade found its target, the bear roaring wildly as it was set aflame. Forcing himself to spare a glance, he saw that the creature still lumbered toward them, though it had at least been slowed. And was now on fire. 

No time to think of that; Leon glanced around, ensured that everything vital--him, his weapons, Ada-- were securely on the snowmobile, and now he unwound a thick cable from his vest--actually, the cord ended in his belt and was securely fastened to his waist--and swiftly looped the slack around the snowmobiles carbide frame, scraping his arm on the body as he reached forward. 

Leon shook his head to himself, as if to say ‘that’s as good as it gets’ before he again went full throttle and withdrew, with his left hand, the grapnel side of the cable. He could hear the chuffing of the bear, hear gunshots ring out as Ada attempted to defend their small lead, and now Leon watched as the freight train overtook them. His snow-covered head pivoted, counting the line of cars until he saw the break in cargo trailers, and an empty flatbed began a new line of cars. The bear growled again, spewing mold--he could smell it burning-- and Leon could not focus on aiming the spring-loaded grapnel while maintaining speed. He had to slow down.. The heavy snow drifts pushed against the snowmobile, and he felt the animal behind him swipe at the vehicle, causing it to fishtail, as he shot the metal toward the cargo train’s thick bars. 

He only had moments to wonder if the grapnel caught before Leon felt another jerk, this time in the opposite direction. He instinctively dug his knees inward, feeling the tension around his waist and the weight of the sudden airborne snowmobile as it lifted up, pulled by the train. For a moment, Leon, Ada, and the snowmobile hovered in midair cartoonishly before the speeding train propelled them forward and up and away. The rescue was short-lived in its generosity, as they now spilled onto the large platform and Leon, still attached to the snowmobile, rolled over and over with the leftover force from its abrupt pickup. 

Leon bounced off the metal flooring once, twice, and finally slammed to a stop, wincing as he pushed himself up onto his shoulders. He fumbled to release the grapnel, dazed, and grunted the same word he’d muttered to himself earlier: “...Ada? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ada's POV is in the next chapter. (We split it into two separate chapters to avoid overwhelming the reader)  
Thank you to those that gave kudos! We couldn't have imagined such positive reception!


	8. Unbearable Truth

**ADA**

A muffled grunt escaped her mouth as she pushed herself up. Palms sank into the snow up to her wrists. Blood speckled the blanket of white. Controlled breaths fell in visible puffs and the sudden wind made ebony bangs thrash against her forehead. Ada pushed herself to her feet, one gloved palm pressing at the pain in her abdomen, and stole a glance at the wound. A muffled buzzing angrily beat against her mind, separate from the humming of her overturned vehicle. 

It was not visible though she could see shredded fabric and evidence of something more. Burgundy cloth frayed and puckered in a thin line and crimson continued staining the outline of the tear. Either she was getting rusty or infection had increased the bear’s speed. The former was laughable, even after the exertion of dodging and fighting for over an hour. 

_What_ are _you?_ Ada’s thoughts were a blur of everything she had encountered so far with this contagion. Answers she did not have teased her thoughts and caused wonder at the possibilities surrounding such a virus… and what the hell it had been created from was at the forefront. Caramel-colored eyes glanced upward searching for her adversary, the taste of copper all too familiar on her tongue. 

The bear was lumbering to a stop though not from exhaustion. It seemed as if it would never tire and grew more violent and unpredictable as time passed. It turned, breaths trailing in clumps of vapor over its shoulders, and its milky gaze sought out its current prey… but it hesitated charging. The creature stood on its hind legs and sniffed the air. Its matted fur, still damp with evidence of its last meal, gleamed in the glow of near-eternal day and viscous liquid dripped from its half-opened maw and formidable claws to splat at its feet. The blackish ooze hit pristine snow and caused a sizzling sound as steam rose in inky trails. 

Ada filed the observation away to muse over another time and took her chance to push herself completely to her feet. One boot stumbled forward catching herself from falling as a wave of exhaustion swept through her. The wounds, though small considering her opponent, sent stinging sensations through the surrounding muscles. 

Worrisome? Perhaps.  
The infected bear? A higher priority. 

The buzzing in her head would not cease and she shook it quickly trying to rid herself of the sound. It grew in volume instead, defying her efforts… Until she realized it was not in her mind. She caught a blur of motion from the corner of her eye. Before she could turn her head she felt a pull on her clothing and the floor fell away. Her ribs crashed against a hard surface. Fresh pain bubbled forth from her injuries. The padded seat did nothing to soften the blow when there was so little available. The vehicle was meant for a solo adventurer. 

Snow that had been crushed into a glossy surface whipped by beneath her while she regained her senses and flipped around in the ‘seat’. Her balance returned just in time as they impacted with something she couldn’t see. Arms gripped Leon’s waist briefly to keep herself from being ejected and she released him as soon as he slid them to a stop. 

Snow blew from her jacket, fur-lined hood waving wildly around her neck in the wind, and she blinked against the tiny flakes that bounced into her eyes. Black-gloved hands shielded her face as best they could while the haze over her eyes slowly cleared. The blizzard was returning, air thickening with flakes and a winter chill moaned through the trees beyond the train tracks with the same ferocity as the bear in front of them. 

A roar drew her attention back to the problem at hand but she still could not see beyond Leon’s back. No matter how she angled her body to peer around him he seemed to always shift to block her view.  
_Hey, handsome, it’s not all about you._ The corner of her mouth nearly tugged in a smirk. 

His weapon fired repeatedly but there didn’t seem to be auditory evidence of an effect… as if the target continued to shrug off the projectiles as easily as the snow around them. Disturbing, to say the least. 

He had chosen a different weapon and as he turned back to continue his assault she used the chance to quickly observe all the morsels he had packed for the road.  
_Stylish and prepared… Well done._ The unspoken praise caused a single eyebrow to lift. Once again she attempted to view the threat that had him so intently firing. 

Ada assumed his focus was on the bear and when he finally sidestepped the miniature war taking place was revealed to her. Spasming tentacles and harsh yelps put a tension in Ada’s shoulders she did not desire. 

Muddy roads and decrepit housing threatened to complicate the scenario. A wolf’s growl, the stench of infection and coagulated blood, and the feeling of impact as similar tentacles whipped her skin made Ada visibly stiffen while unwanted memories stirred; self-induced and leaving only a sinking feeling in her stomach instead of an illusion. 

_“Watch out,”_ masculine voice barked orders, _“distract it!”_

Ada bit back a quip and instead dropped her gaze to the equipment surrounding her perch. A pistol rested securely near her calf and she pulled it from its sanctuary without hesitation. Arms held it aloft in the direction of the feral infected beasts. She set the sights on her target…. but did not pull the trigger. 

Her aim wavered ever so slightly. Ada squinted as her vision blurred in and out. The fur of her hood tickled her throat and her breath clung to the air at her lips when her typically calm breathing came out in small forceful panting sounds. Fingers slipped against the weapon and she dropped it to her lap to remove her gloves. Safely tucked into another pocket she resumed trying to aim but to no avail. The blur worsened, the large shape of a bear turning into a blob of brown that was jagged at the edges and releasing some form of black spray. Her abdomen burned and throbbed as an itch began to cry for her attention. 

“Leon,” Ada almost slurred in warning as his body suddenly blocked her view again, but her voice was lost in a sudden gust of wind screaming through the trees. 

An intense smell of gasoline filled the air. Its potency invaded her senses and snapped her awareness back like a plucked rubber band. Vision remained hazy, movements slowly lost their sluggish nature, and her bangs tossed along her forehead as she shook it to clear her mind. Before she knew it he was back on the vehicle and they were spurred into action. Her balance failed her due to her condition and she almost fell backward. Ada, with much effort, squashed the concern that rose in her throat and instead gripped his jacket tightly with her fingers. The train could be heard behind them, along with the thundering footsteps of a very angry bear. 

Something solid fell into her hand and with that came the rush of comprehension she was accustomed to and had sorely lacked for the past several minutes. Slender form twisted easily despite the bulk of her winter gear. A gentle toss and the incendiary grenade landed two feet in front of their pursuer… and ignited in a blaze of melting snow and burning gunk. The bear continued to charge, now engulfed in flames and appearing impossibly more horrific and determined even as its gait slowed by the smallest bit. She would have inwardly groaned if not for the distraction her wound caused. 

Leon and his bright ideas… 

The surroundings swayed and tilted and she latched on to him again to keep herself from falling. Thankfully, it was precisely what needed to be done which meant it wouldn’t raise any questions. A sense of vertigo yanked at her awareness. Next there was a crashing sound as he was torn from her and she went tumbling in a different direction. 

Cold metal met her with eagerness and she rolled along the floor until she made impact with large metal containers. Shining cylinders went sprawling, much like her limbs, and one introduced her cranium to its protruding valve. The impact struck hard enough to claim her eyesight and the world blacked out, replaced by a confused blinded feeling. Ada briefly wondered if the stars were visible outside of her mind as well. 

She could hear Leon impact somewhere not far from her. Ada pushed herself up with clumsy motions, palm pressing against her temple to settle her nausea once she realized she had landed in a pile of the ooze she detested, and actively refused to acknowledge the aches and other unpleasantries building within her. All of her self-discipline went into taking one steady step and then another. Her snow boots crunched with leftover ice against the metal floor until she could see the agent. He was alive. 

_Ever the survivor._ If not for the pain that suddenly lit her nerves on fire Ada might have smiled. He was surprisingly sturdy for all his pretty boy appearance. Any humor that may have left her lips in a quip vanished when she felt something unknown squirm between her flesh and clothing beneath the jacket. 

Ada’s unreadable countenance flickered as she fought to maintain control over her expression. She smothered the lapse with words. 

“Seems we get a reprieve while he cools off after our heated exchange.” Her voice lacked the usual air of mischief and instead fell dead as her attention was tugged at again. 

Privacy became her priority. A single hand reached into a pocket and felt a faint lump over the wounds. She pulled her phone out under the pretense of retrieving the device and sauntered away from him with as much nonchalance as she could muster. Let him think she was off to take a call or report to superiors. They had enough history… he could formulate his own inaccurate beliefs and glare at her later. 

A stack of crates loomed to her left and she darted behind them sliding her phone back into her pocket. The alcove offered shelter from the lashes of wind and harsh glare of sunlight on steel. Ada dug her gloves out and tugged them on while taking a deep breath. She opened her coat and then grasped the hem of the black shirt beneath. Its cloth was also torn and clung to her skin resisting the pull she gave it. Cold air smacked into her with the same frigidity of ice pressed against flesh. Ada exhaled and stared, eyes narrowing. 

Ebony tendrils wove their way across her skin, no more than an inch or two in length, pulsating against raw flesh pink with irritation. Pale scarring from a wound years ago left a sour taste of the past pulling at her inner cheeks. 

Ironic that after decades the past would return to haunt her, yet somehow fitting. 

The fresh wounds clawed across the faded parting gift from Birkin. Three ragged gashes streaked across her once creamy flesh. There would have been more if she had not dodged in time but she could not find the willpower to feel relieved. The main wound in the center wept blood, red trickles coasting down the revealed area in slow rhythmic patterns. It wasn’t stopping. 

Ada listened but did not hear any telltale footsteps. Right arm deftly plucked her knife from a concealed holster and revealed its thin blade. She took a deep breath, nostrils flaring, and slipped the tip of silver into her wound. Air hissed between her teeth as she pried the skin apart to reveal confirmation of her suspicions. The ooze had birthed from inside the wound, not the other way around. 

“Well, this complicates things.” Typically sultry voice was void of any humor in the muttered phrase as eyes remained locked on the wound.


	9. Perfect Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone copes in their own way

**LEON**

Leon felt a wave of fatigue when he attempted to push himself up. The agent was feeling his age today. He instead tucked an elbow and rolled over onto his back, cringing at the feel of splintered wood of the flatcar's deck against his skull. Despite everything, it was almost peaceful; an orange-pink sky muddled by grey clouds, the sun so far away it hovered as a pinprick above the mountains, never rising above the edge of the earth. He wondered if it was sunrise or sunset, and then Leon considered that maybe he should've kept the helmet on. He had always been prone to bouts of short-term memory loss, but the sheer absurdity of this mission left him, for the moment, without a reason to get up. 

He heard Ada's footsteps meandering away, her boots gently clicking on the wood, and Leon growled a disgruntled "You're welcome," after her before sighing. He fumbled with his gloves, removing one, and pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose and forehead. He needed to find some clarity or else he would just lay here on this train car until he died. 

The agent performed a quick sweep of his torso as he stood up slowly. Krauser's knife was still strapped onto his plate carrier, without a sheath but nonetheless secure. Pistol and ammo under the coat, check. Belt secure. He pulled up a GPS map on his mobile device and saw the pin Hunnigan had dropped earlier for the medical facility. Assuming this train wouldn't deviate, they were going in the right direction. 

Satisfied, Leon pocketed the phone and glanced in the opposite direction where Ada had disappeared, probably conspiring with whatever shitty people she conspired with. He turned back, now looking toward the snowmobile. It had crashed precariously at the end of the flat car, where a boxcar had caught its wild barrel rolls, and prevented it from flying far off into the Alaskan forest. 

Nice. Leon approached the vehicle, which was idling stubbornly, and he glanced around to see if it was possible to haul the mobile backward, onto the platform. No such luck. The forward frame was warped, and the nose was far too low for him to safely hope he could pull it backward. His boots toed the edge of the platform. Three feet below, the tracks were a blur as the train rattled forward at full speed. 

The best he could hope for was gear retrieval. Leon hastily grabbed the weapons and tools from the saddlebags, making a small arsenal pile behind him, and as he tugged the last gun, his trusty Mosin, out of the holster, the ATV groaned with motion, tugging back. The gun was yanked free and Leon stumbled, surprised at the speed with which the snowmobile toppled forward between train cars and was then caught under the train wheels. In barely one rotation there was a loud, sickening metallic and glass crunch as it was ripped apart so fast it seemed to explode. Debris flew behind them, and whatever parts of the broken machine stuck under the train rattled for only moments before they too were spat out by the wheels. 

No one saw Leon's wry wince at the event, or his cautious glance as he first set down the Mosin and returned to the edge of the platform to wide-step the gap between cars, his boot catching the lip of the car in front. Without moving from the precarious perch, he slid open the door of the boxcar. 

It was empty inside except for a few piles of waste; broken palettes, empty barrels. The side door was wide open, revealing a window to the view to his left, but the right door was closed, creating a one-sided shelter. He pushed away from the sidecar. It was the best place to stay, offering more protection than the rows of flat cars behind them. He placed the Mosin on the top of his weapon pile before scanning the area--all clear, for now--and walking in the direction Ada had gone earlier. 

Leon heard movement nearby, turned his head, and paused at the sheer strangeness of what he saw. At first, it looked as though Ada were tending to a wound, but her gloves were still on. Her coat was open and Leon saw dark crimson haloing around the shirt fabric covering her abdomen. He was not surprised that she had been wounded, nor was he surprised that she would tend to it on her own. He would do the same if it were him. But just as he opened his mouth in confusion, she dug in again with the knife, muttering something he couldn't hear over the wind. 

"What the hell are you doing?" he questioned, rushing to her side and swatting the knife away before she could protest. 

It clattered somewhere amid the junk of the rail car, and now Leon looked closely at her abdomen. It was definitely a wound from the bear--three lacerations, thankfully no evisceration-- and while it definitely warranted cleaning and bandaging, he could see from the blood on her gloved hand and now, the blood exiting the wound, that she'd only punctured it more deeply. 

The past few days flashed in front of Leon and he remembered Ada's strange reaction, dazed and muttering that he'd been wounded. Now he yanked her wrist, probably harder than he should have, but a rare flash of fear rose over his grey eyes as he glared at her. 

"What in the hell are you doing?" he asked again, all pretense gone. "We've got to bandage this, now." 

\----- 

**_"He's gone," the young girl said wistfully, staring out the window at the waning sun, the first flecks of stars appearing on the horizon behind the dying sun. She sighed almost in the way a lovestruck teenager would sigh, remembering the vision of the ornate castle. The blond man. She wanted to devour his mind as though it were one of the thousands of books she'd read during her captivity._**

**_"Good, now, come here and get these documents. We've got to leave," her guardian had been rushing, running, packing, fleeing, while she sat in the windowsill. Not the stark, depressing medical facility where she'd lived all this time, but now she was in the deceiving and gorgeously decorated lobby. The ornate ballroom-esque space was littered with the dead--the workers. They lay strewn about the mold, resistant to decay thanks to the temperature. The power had been cut off, generators running only necessary functions until they too ran out of fuel. This place would become an icy tomb once the heaters turned off, but by then, they would be an ocean away._**

**_"I wonder if he saw me," she wondered, doodling on the frosted windows absent-mindedly. She drew the symbol she'd seen in her own research, in everything her Guardian showed her. A spiky, strange symbol, representing a religious organization, but also the magic that grew within her. Her Guardian declined to answer, instead holding out a passport and other documents with a stressed, annoyed look on his face._**

**_"We're going," he repeated._**

**_She sniffed and closed her eyes. "I saw you together. Somewhere warm. I saw you again in a sandy place...old and important...full of history. Our history. What did you do there?"_**

**_"I told you not to do that to me," he said warningly. "The less you know about all that, the better. Besides," he shrugged. "It was in the past. The place you saw in my head was in Spain. So if you ever do want to see it," he waved the papers. "Now's the time...."_**

**_"The past has a way of coming back," she said cryptically, as she slid away from the window seat, leaving her doodles to slowly frost over, cemented against the Alaskan sky._**

\----------- 

**ADA**

Countless official missions, and many more ‘off the books’, and over two-thirds of them had involved a virus in some form or another… and now, her luck had run out. After everything, every nightmare and risk, the bill had come due. It was almost poetic; a tragic harmony to balance out the melody of her life and career. Even the lines weeping blood glared accusingly with the dreams of yesterday. The fear of infection had been intense all those years ago yet she had pushed through, knowing that the objective remained the priority until she took her last breath. Stumbling to safety with only the bitter taste of her own choices to keep her company and every twist and turn of dank hallway filled with the stench of chemicals flooding her senses. Thinking back on it, as she had many times before in self-evaluation, had that fear been pushed aside for her job or her companion? 

Would their lives have been any different had he first heeded her warning in that underground garage? Would their paths have crossed and ended there? If she had allowed her employers to think she lied among the rubble, lost to the shuffling dead and contaminated labs, would she have been left derelict and able to start a new life? 

_“What the hell are you doing?”_

Her blade fell from her hands. It flew away from them and bounced with a clatter. Confusion left her dazed and she cradled her palm with the opposite hand, holding both near her chest. The skin beneath her glove stung where he had hit. The contact had been brief, but enough to cause a spike of surprise along with pain. The action had been so abrupt that it left her without words. White flakes swirled past the alcove she had hidden away in and left a hazy and disorienting glimpse of the forest speckling the mountains along the route. 

She sobered enough to notice his attention to her injury. An inspection? What was there to inspect? The ragged skin and constant spill of blood revealed enough, but the disgusting substance inching its way outward from the injury was the punchline of the cruel joke. Perhaps it would have been kinder to turn away, or to push him from her. Yet, she did not move to shield him from the truth. 

For the first time, in longer than she cared admit, Ada struggled to find words for the situation… and decided it was better not to speak. The spy could not sugarcoat the situation, could not turn a phrase to gloss over the significance of it. She also held no desire or need to rub salt in the wound. There would be plenty of that later when the stages of grief began for those affected. 

Black gloves whispered, caressing the sting that lingered. Her actions were interrupted by his sudden grip on her wrist. She didn’t fight him but her eyes flashed in shock at his rough handling and the painful vice of his strength holding her arm to prevent any movement. The wind screamed with renewed vigor in the storm as though to protest the violence between them. Annoyance turned to anger, both bubbling forth from the cloud that had been her mind… until she saw his eyes. An emotion she had not expected to see had been revealed. She had thought him to be usually flippant in scenarios that agitated him; a quality both infuriating and endearing, yet missing in these precious few seconds. She hadn't expected to witness a fear that echoed her own. 

_“What the hell are you doing? We’ve got to bandage this, now.”_

Ada blinked once, staring at him as though she were seeing him for the first time. She studied him silently and her mouth settled into a thin line. 

Bandages would hardly solve the problem. At best, it would buy her some time by guarding the injury from further exposure. 

She tried to read him, to use her natural intuition and her own knowledge of him to understand his urgency when he had yet to mention the infection. Something akin to begrudged understanding flickered in her stare. She didn’t want to face it either… but it wouldn’t do any good to play dumb, no matter how stubborn he could be. 

Tension coiled in her chest as she lifted her free hand to gently rest her fingers over his that embraced her wrist. As much as she wanted to scold him for ignoring the obvious complication of her condition she simply removed his grip from her wrist and let go. She pulled her hood up around her face to guard against the strong winds, offered him a simple nod in acceptance of his demand, and made her way around the boxes until she could search for her knife. The glimmer among junk helped her search but it was bent and useless. Sighing Ada tucked the bloodstained item away. Perhaps it would find a use somehow even in its horrid condition. 

Standing and bracing herself against a large metal container she moved toward the only true shelter this part of the train offered. The boxcar beckoned with its walls and she took several steps before nearly falling. Her strength gave out and she gasped as she almost went to a knee. Trembling as blood dotted the ground beneath her, she pushed herself up with a grunt and ignored any help that may be offered. 

_I may not be in any condition to refuse, but I still have my dignity. That, Leon, you will never make me question._ Reassurance rang hollow but still she tried to convince herself. 

The shelter felt so very far way but she weakly stumbled to its entrance. One hand on the open frame allowed her to peer inside and see the mess. 

_Is it too much to ask for one place, one single place, to offer goose feathers and silks?_ Inner sarcasm caused a wry smile to tease her lips, but then her face was a calm, albeit grimacing when she moved, mask again. 

The injured spy limped to the center of a dry spot and eased herself down to sit. Her coat scraped against the wall and a muffled thwump sounded as she hit the ground with legs curled beneath her. Shifting her position she stretched out as best she could while sitting up and revealed the infected skin. Gloved hand reached into a pocket, smearing blood on its path, to withdraw a small tube akin to lip gloss and a compact as though to apply makeup. With a hiss it opened a secret compartment and she grasped a small hooked needle and thread. Removing the bottom of the tube with her teeth revealed a sheet of metal that began to glow with heat. The casings were discarded on the floor having no use until the task was completed. 

Three attempts to touch the metal to the lines that wouldn’t need stitching left her hissing through her teeth from the burns on tender flesh. Sighing, she had to admit to herself that she couldn’t do it. Her vision blurred but she sought out her only companion. 

“Don’t suppose you know how to be gentle?” She teased in that husky purr she often had though it was broken by labored breathing. 

Hands offered the items, waiting for him to either accept or refuse, and her head fell back against the wall. Fur teased her cheekbones and onyx bangs fluttered from the little bit of wind that clawed its way into the open side across from her position. The steady clack of wheels on tracks kept pattern as she considered the current situation and all that had brought her to this point: the first time she had ever met him, all the times they had seen each other between, and how things often changed yet remained the same. 

“Do you ever think about it?” The question voiced was in a whisper, as though miles away. She didn’t bother specifying what. It had imprinted on both of them, that cursed city, and with the anniversary so near she wondered if he was plagued by thoughts as she often was. “So naive… yet oddly admirable.” The corner of her mouth pulled in a smirk, neither coy nor unkind, and she sighed. 

Her life was very much this train and its tracks. She could go wherever she pleased, so long as it didn’t deviate from its set path and each destination connected to the same line. More often than not he had been involved too, because fate never seemed to lose its sense of humor even when no one else was laughing. The snow outside glittered in the constant low-set sun, flashing by in streaks that caught her eyes when she opened them for a second or two before resting again. Snow wiped everything away except her memory, which was a pity. She could still recall the air between them being genuine and guilt-filled instead of thick with lies and could have beens.


	10. One Way Rails

**LEON**

He was too confused--quite the feat--to be anything else as Ada stared wryly at him, as though he'd suggested they have tea with the President. Just as he opened his mouth to protest again, she stared at him more deeply, and he arched a brow. The wind blew around them as though to urge both to make some move, and Ada seemed to comply, moving her other hand to cover his. Leon jolted inwardly but thanks to years of practice, remained stoic as she pulled his hand away and turned, pulling up her hood. 

_Now wait just a goddamned minute,_ he felt like snapping, feeling the familiar reaction that was a ghost of a slap in the face already stinging his pride, a flush rushing to his cheeks. Despite being all business and reacting cat-like, not wanting to show pain or her wounds--Leon knew Ada's ways--they were alone on a fucking train in the middle of the tundra. Showing weakness after being mauled by a bear would have been appropriate. 

However, Leon kept quiet, setting his jaw and nearly stomping after her. He wasn't silent out of manners; he had few of those anyway. Something told him that Ada wasn't thinking straight, and that perturbed him enough to keep him observant rather than reactive. He had to get more information. Something had happened to her, and it didn't seem related to their recent attack on the snowmobiles. He half-rolled his eyes when she took her knife, and headed toward the boxcar he'd scoped out earlier. 

His stomps turned only slightly more hesitant when she faltered and refused his deft catch. Again, not unlike Ada, but if he had to follow her right off the edge of the train to make sure she'd take care of the wound he would. In fact, he was considering tackling her and wrenching the knife away, but Leon wasn't stupid enough to think that Ada didn't have other weapons hidden. More information, he reminded himself, nonetheless supporting her back as she unsteadily moved over the gap between train cars. 

With one last glance at the rails below his feet, he was standing on dry wooden flooring, littered with cargo shipping material--warm, at least. He surveyed the 'room' as Ada meandered to a corner to sit. It was well-sealed and the only breeze was blowing in from the opposite open door. He watched the snow blowing over the dark, bleak line of tall pines and moved to slide the heavy metal doors half closed before returning to Ada. He didn't want to shut what little light they had out, but he would keep the area as warm as he could. And actually, he was soaked; Leon lay his larger guns down in a heap, and covered them with the thick winter coat, which now smelled of gasoline fumes and bear fur. 

He dropped to one knee, eyeing the makeup compact as though it might explode. Things did have a habit around her......... 

_“Don’t suppose you know how to be gentle?”_

He almost eagerly took the instruments and gave her one last hopeful, stony smirk as he held them. 

"I've mended a few buttons," He said reassuringly, 

He pulled her coat completely out of the way. It was shredded in the middle, swatted off her skin by the mutated bear, but the blood-soaked fabric of her shirt lingered, stuck to pieces of skin too near the wounds. Leon brushed them aside, still studying the marks. The animal's flesh had left characteristic jagged cuts, damaging but not deep. However, Ada's knife left one clean cut that connected the other three. Luckily it had missed anything too deep, but he almost winced at the pain that must have taken. 

He began cleaning, and suturing. Except for the faithful clacking of the wheels against the tracks, it was silent. He glanced at Ada several times during this, but her eyes were closed and her dark hair fluttered around the fur trim of her hood. After the stitches were secure, he found an occlusive bandage in one of his many own pockets and made it work, pressing the sides down to adhere to her skin and frowning at his own work. He couldn't really make a quip, both because the extent of the wound and its cause was bothering him, and also because Ada was probably unconscious and wouldn't appreciate his great humor anyway. 

_“Do you ever think about it?”_

Leon paused, freezing as he had been about to awkwardly thrust the makeup components back at her. He blinked, momentarily stunned, and then tucked the contents back into one of her large coat pockets. Now the blond shuffled clumsily and leaned against the structure beside her, glancing again at the passing landscape in all its greys. He stared ahead, trees offering no respite from rainy, ransacked Raccoon City. No snow, but the chill of rain. No midnight sun, just a bleak, long night full of horrors. Ada and her red dress, which had remained hidden under her trench coat when they met. Their first true walk together. He'd felt so sheepish, following her through the rows of cars, long before they had entered the laboratories. He remembered the fascination with her and his own demanding nature...looking for answers where she gave none, his own wild ideas about her job with the FBI. It was easier to reminisce with her laying there, eyes closed, near him. He continued to stare at the black trees, seeing the neon signs of Raccoon City reflected in the slick, rainy pavement. 

"Sometimes," he said in a more contemplative voice than normal. He wanted to sigh, to exhale some of the frustration and stress he'd been holding in. Just as Leon inhaled, eyes on the horizon, Ada responded...or voiced internal thoughts aloud, he wasn't sure which. It made the flush rise on his cheeks again and he almost choked on his breath. 

_“So naive...yet oddly admirable.”_

He turned his head sharply, staring at her to see if she was going to take another jab at him. Ada was smirking in a way he rarely saw, and the special agent who'd taken on countless cities and bioweapons had to actually scan a second time to assuage his fears that she was not, in fact, picking on him. In fact, her reminiscent expression looked almost fond of the memory. 

Maybe Ada preferred the young puppy dog that had followed her around all night, taken a bullet for her, mourned what he thought was the loss of her life for what seemed like forever after getting drafted by the Secret Service.... 

He shut down the train of thought before it took off with more verve than the train they were currently on. But Leon couldn't help the next words that spilled out of his mouth. 

"Naive," he nodded, pressing his back into the cold metal wall and kicking his feet out, stretching. "Maybe I still am." He couldn't bring himself to look at her again, at the almost pleasant look she'd had. "And maybe you're still using that to your advantage. Beats me thinking you're dead and hating that night even more. Do you remember what I said?" He could almost hear his own annoyingly youthful, hopeful voice as he happily skipped along Raccoon's mildewy sewer entrances, reassuring himself more than Ada. 

**It's not too late to turn back, Leon.**

"....Stuck with me to the end." 

He said it aloud and was surprised at how gravelly and harsh, how tired and full of disdain the words sounded. Not at all the way he'd said them all those years before. It was his turn to lean his head back and close his eyes. Ada at least seemed stable, and passive enough to stop stabbing herself. He made the most of the moment and sighed. 

\----------- 

**ADA**

Tension seemed determined to drill its way between them, yet somehow it never managed to sour their encounters. No, that was what the past was for, what her very presence seemed slated to cause. If he were comfortable, she’d never know…. But she, herself, did find comfort in his company even if he was too sullen to realize it. This was yet another time when she was injured to the point of vulnerability, and while loathe to admit her predicament, she needed him. She could feel him working quickly, skin pulling and puckering as he stitched, but she bit her tongue to keep silent against any discomfort. 

_“Maybe I still am.”_

Her smirk grew only to vanish with his next words. 

_“And maybe you’re still using that to your advantage. Beats me thinking you’re dead and hating that night even more.”_

Ada Wong had long since learned how to smother her guilt down with half-truths and twisted justifications until she could pretend it didn’t exist, but it didn’t save her the pain in her chest or the fluttering in her stomach. His words were the stinging blade that carved its way deeper than any other ever could have hoped to go. Bitterness mingled with the copper tinge in the back of her throat. She swallowed the lump of emotion without a sound, the taste of her own blood appropriate as though a mockery of religious communion washing away sins. She preferred the wine and dry bread, but blood and regret were her only sustenance now. They did less to wash it away and more to solidify it. 

Indifference was often assumed to be a lack of conscience. The assumption served her well during her career but times like these reminded her how alone she truly always would be. While the world was not as simple as right and wrong, that much was true, it wasn’t as simple as lacking a heart or being cool and calculated through and through. Ada kept everything under lock and key because it was safer that way, not only for herself. Emotions complicated things and missions suffered for it. 

If they couldn’t read you, they couldn’t use you. Have a heart and the incoming shot would always be straight and true. 

She couldn't dispute his words, though he seemed to harbor the belief that she used him more often than she actually did. Many times things conveniently aligned in such a way as to benefit her path to the goal, but there were just as many times that she had detoured in order to keep him alive. Thankfully the two paths had yet to tangle beyond what she could salvage. Reputation and pride were not the only things on the line… but every so often fate would remind her of her choices in a profound way. 

It seemed Leon would be that reminder this time… as he often was. 

_“Do you remember what I said?”_

Ada’s lips pursed. Did she remember? As if she could ever forget. Her memory didn’t allow that luxury. She could still smell the rain and even the sheen of sweat on his skin if she allowed herself to drift that far. His cheeks had been fuller back then in his youth, his uniform fitting him perfectly, and the sound of his boots on the floor as they walked together echoed through her head. 

_“….Stuck with me to the end.”_

She was not prepared to hear him repeat his words from the past, especially with such a tone. Where once his voice had been full of determination and eagerness, now she could practically feel the spark of venom woven into disdain. Ada briefly wondered if she would literally see it arcing through the air toward her if she opened her eyes. Better to keep them closed and be somewhat blind to it... 

_Don’t worry, it won’t be much longer._ Her arm wrapped around her waist as though to punctuate her thought. 

Better to focus on something physical than the hurricane inside. She had pondered more than once what she would do if her time with him were to come to an end. What words she would say, confessions or apologies, the coy yet defiant smirk that would grace her lips one last time as if to say ‘I’ve died before, what’s once more?’ and what she would say to encourage him to keep going…. and now that the moment was staring her in the face she could do little more than fall silent and bury the options deep. 

Only once she felt confident that he had stopped moving around did she finally venture to investigate. Lashes parted as she opened her eyes to stare skyward. Taking one shaking breath she tipped her head down and inspected his handiwork as much as she could through its covering. The bandage had adhered and she gently ran her fingers along it to feel for the stitching. He had tended her to the best of his ability and her attention turned to him instead. Head tilted, bangs lying askew, and her hood fell back to her shoulders. She studied him in this moment they had while nothing else around could distract them and they had some semblance of safety. 

“You’ve improved.” Words had fallen into little more than a whisper but filled with conviction. 

Where once he had been mostly smooth jawed and rounded cheeks now she saw sharp cheekbones and a chiseled jaw dusted with shadow. His eyes were closed but she knew their look as well as her own. Had memorized it in those fleeting chances allowed and watched the change as they both grew older. Where blue eyes had once been vibrant with the folly of youth, now she knew them to hold all the lessons a harsh life had instilled, each horror etched within their now-hidden depths. Her compliment hung in the air either aimed at him, his work, or both. She wouldn’t voice which she had meant. 

“I can still smell the rain.” She breathed in hushed confession. 

Eyes stared ahead, watching the trees zip by in the gap he had left in the door. Now that she had opened the sluice, it spilled forth. 

“I remember first walking through the city, once most of the screams had ceased, and its silence thick with death. It felt like I was the only soul left. I may have almost been convinced of it… until I happened upon a young man in uniform.” The last statement rose slightly as her lips curled in a shadow of a smile. “You looked so determined to survive… I saw my own resolve reflected back at me. Ammunition was so scarce…” She paused for half a heartbeat, “I’d still say the bullets were well-spent. I was right. Ever the survivor.” Something akin to pride almost crept into her voice. She coughed, a wet sound in her chest and throat, and reached up to discreetly wipe away the blood that had edged to the corner of her mouth. 

Ada wrapped her arms around her stomach and turned only slightly away. Silence followed her statement but red and blue lights flashed behind her eyes as windshields glittered with fresh raindrops. She was chilled from more than just the winter surrounding them and reminiscing didn’t bring her warmth. 


	11. Memory Lane

**LEON**

His aged and bitter voice was still ringing his ears as he squeezed his eyes more tightly shut. Why had she brought up Raccoon City? Whenever Ada or Claire or, well, anyone mentioned it to or around Leon, the reaction was the same...stiff, reluctant, speaking of a ghost. As it should be. Yet it sounded like she wanted to relive those moments of hell. He couldn't imagine why. Raccoon was the ultimate failure, the first of a long line of failures. As though the city were an old friend, Leon had protested its inevitable demise. He wanted to save it. He wanted to help. 

Wanting to help had turned into some strange turn of duty where passion was replaced by stalwart training and techniques, the latest weaponry, enough physical training to make a military officer cry, and a plethora of other immeasurable substances that swallowed Leon up so wholly he didn't even know where he was at times. He should open his eyes. He needed to ground himself. PTSD was a nice clinical term for living moments away from an exploding amygdala, but he'd dealt with these drowning thoughts for long enough he knew how to snap out of it, how to focus on the task at hand. And yet opening his eyes was impossible. 

He found himself pulled away from the wisps of smoke circling Raccoon City, and into a warmly, dimly lit stone room. The smell was cedar, and fog after rain. Priests whispered in Spanish, a language Leon had zero interest in learning for the last decade. But he knew what they were saying anyway. Perhaps his brain intended for this strange intermission, perhaps not, but just as Leon was trying to wrench himself away from it, there was another light in his orange-tinted nightmare. 

A voice, Ada's voice. 

_“You’ve improved.”_

He could see the way out. Leon on the train kept his eyes glued shut. Leon in the castle looked around for the voice, and light. 

It wasn't enough to pull him out yet. Despite the swirling images of the tapestry on the castle wall, mixed with the labyrinth underneath once-Raccoon City, Leon's eyes moved rapidly. His brow was lowered in what looked like a brooding expression, but the telltale signs, his hands, gripped nothing and were motionless at his side. He tried to unclench them and could not. Ada spoke again, her voice coming from the slightest change in direction. He could tell that she had been looking at him and was now looking away. 

The light shone again and Leon could open his eyes suddenly, the roaring of the train on its tracks and her silken tones the most deafening welcome back to reality that he could have mustered. Ada wasn't one to stumble over long, drawn out statements, so he exhaled and attempted to bring her voice back into his focus, his ears still ringing. His ears had been ringing? Leon unclenched his gloved fists, feeling the soreness, flexing his fingers until he got some feeling in them. 

_"...until I happened upon a young man in uniform. You looked so determined to survive… I saw my own resolve reflected back at me. Ammunition was so scarce…”_

Now he was even more disoriented, and for a moment the nightmare in his mind seemed a safer and more familiar one than this. Leon scanned Ada's face for some clue what this was about, but she merely continued, slumping backward even as he leaned forward with concern. 

_"I’d still say the bullets were well-spent. I was right. Ever the survivor.”_

He had seen the brunette slicing at her wounded stomach but was it possible she'd hit her head sometime before he happened along to fight the bear? He leaned even farther forward now, the ringing in his ears threatening to return, but Leon fought against the mental onslaught. He had to focus on Ada. Something wasn't right. He glanced back down at her torso and abdomen; the bandage was holding, wasn't bleeding....she didn't lose that much blood. 

"Ada," he said, and compared to the last sentence he'd spat, a tonal difference of night and day--pure concern, a touch of tender warmth and familiarity. He was so perplexed that Leon didn't even notice the warmth in his nostrils, the all-too-familiar threat of another 'brain zap', until the rush of blood trickled down from both to coat his lips and then splash on the wooden floor. Dizzy, he blinked and wiped his face with his palm. 

For a moment the blond stared at the blood on the floor, confused, and braced himself for another onslaught of pain. He decided he'd better ask in case the attack came back. 

So Leon grimaced in a puzzled, hesitant tone, "...Why are you saying this?" 

Despite his fears, the pain did not come, and the buzzing in his ears seemed to fade. He would have felt more himself than anytime in the past five minutes save for her strangeness. It was so strange that he reached for her arm and tugged her toward him with more resolve than his attempt at helping her stand earlier. What was stranger, Ada stabbing herself, or saying these things? He didn't know, but didn't like either. So much for gathering more data. 

\------------- 

**ADA**

Her arms tightened around her abdomen, steeling herself for whatever flippant thing might roll off his tongue next. He may never have noticed it, hell even turned a blind eye towards it because their lives were easier that way while working, but he could stab at her with his indifference as easily as she cut him with hers. The difference continued to be that she hid it better. Always had. Always would. 

_“Ada.”_

She remembered that intonation. It was one she did not hear often during work-- or any time really if she were honest, rare as it was. Memories tickled her senses and threatened to take her back to the last time she had opened her eyes to her name tumbling so softly from his mouth. The briefest flash of burning buildings and another man, cracked as though his skin fit like a misshapen puzzle, flitted before her. It vanished before they could take hold. Ada shook her head gently as if the action could somehow clear away the past. 

Leon had fallen silent again. Typical. Predictable. Ever the silent hero, though if she dared call him that… she was almost tempted just to see if his brow would furrow or his lip might pull up in reaction. It was half the fun, really. And what was life without whimsy? Dull. Uninspired. Dreary. A hundred other synonyms that would never be the lives that had been thrust upon them. 

_“Why are you saying this?”_

Contemplation morphed her face into a mask of calm. All she had to do was accept it and call it by name so that he would, too… so why was it so difficult? Unfinished business, perhaps. A quiet intake of air preceded an answer that was cut short when his hand clasped around her arm. The hold was as strong as it had been on her wrist earlier forcing the world to shift as she half-tumbled sideways. Ada gasped for breath as the stitching pulled against itself from the sudden twist of muscles. It took her a moment to push the sensation to the back of her mind, to compose herself back to even an injured lump resembling the persona of ‘Ada Wong’. One palm pressed against his chest near where she had fallen from his action, the other splayed out on the floor. Fingertips slipped against liquid splashed beneath her hand, gloves thankfully shielding her from whatever the substance might be. 

She pushed herself up, but remained by his side, shoulder touching his as she contemplated-- and finally settled-- on an answer. Raven hair framed her face as she stared at him. Did he need an answer so intensely that he would manhandle her into giving one? It was unlike him, but she graced him with what he so desperately wanted to hear, though she doubted greatly that it would satiate his sudden curiosity. 

“Time.” It would be left to the agent to unravel any meaning behind the single word. His eyes had once held such hope… That was when she noticed the smear of crimson above his lip. 

“Leon,” she began, turning more towards him. The action caused her arm braced against the floor to slip and she lifted her hand to see fresh blood dotting the black leather. He was bleeding. Eyebrows pinched together. She looked away only long enough to tear a strip off the lower portion of her shirt. The item was ruined anyway, shredded from the bear’s wicked looking claws, and she turned the cloth over in her hands making certain the beast had not left any residue on it. She thrust the piece towards him, though not ungracefully, her old poise slowly returning. Black gloved fingers wrapped around his hand that wasn’t pulling on her arm. She brought it up to her own in hope it would influence him into grabbing the cloth for himself, though the motion wasn't quite as elegant as it would have been had he released her. “You’re bleeding, again.” 

Ada stole a glance at the world outside. The trees had altered their shape and distance to each other. The land was changing, slowly but surely, as the train barreled on its path. Maybe a distraction would help quicken the journey’s pace and keep his roughness at bay. It didn’t suit him or match the concern she had heard in his voice. 

“Red isn’t your color,” she playfully chided with a hint of affection, the pain in her eyes dimming when amusement sparkled.  
_Bury the worry, smother the fear, until it’s all another memory._ Her expression did not betray her thoughts, glimmer in her eyes like days of old. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit short compared to previous chapters, we know. Chapter length varies. Thank you all who are following this story!


	12. Red Ledger

**LEON**

One prize Leon would probably win was 'number of times an asked question went unanswered'. Since his first day on the job as a cop, so it had always been. He did not ask rhetorically, but his physical accompaniment of the question with rather sudden and involved body contact betrayed his will to have an answer. 

She resisted weakly, pressing a palm to his chest, but this time Leon didn't even inwardly notice; his butterflies were gone, sheer confusion and loss of control of the situation occupying his mind. Leon tried to read Ada's face instead as she pushed herself up. He always marveled, with each encounter, how immortal she seemed to look. It wasn't that she was the same breathy, mischievous woman from Raccoon City who dared jeer at the number of times she saved his ass--that Ada had transformed, over the years--but her features were as familiar and yet mysterious to him as the feel of rain after a summer storm, or the scent of his favorite whiskey, or the welcoming enveloping darkness that hung over his head just before he fell asleep. 

Her eyes always glimmered with simultaneous _'there's something you don't know, Leon'_ and _'but don't worry about it'._ Her lips didn't betray if she was actually happy to see him or if she was playing coy, and he had long since abandoned the idea of deciphering those hints. He had to admit, loosening his hold reluctantly, that she looked as she usually did. Minus the wound and the lack of sleep they were both suffering, that is. 

_"Time."_

Yep. Zero sense. Completely useless information. He suspected as much, and now Leon's expression moved from concern to slight contempt. It took a lot of willpower to not interrogate Ada every single time he saw her, usually due to the scraps of clues he perused on his own time for nobody's sake other than his own. If he indulged now, she'd shut down and probably grapple-gun into another time zone for a year or two, but his odd combination of concern and irritation mixed over his brow and then to his lips, which curled as he tried to think of an equally infuriating reply. 

Ada's eyes moved from his own down toward his mouth and he paused in his wordless formation of some halfhearted response--was she going to kiss him? She said his name. His eyes widened at the unexpected implication, but she dashed that with an observant _"You're bleeding, again."_

Now Leon's lips pursed closed purposely and he flared his nostrils. 

"I'm fine," he insisted, and followed her gaze to look outside at the trees. 

Was she, in fact, considering flying off into the darkness until they met again? He gripped her shoulder firmly, determined to get through to the woman somehow. 

_"Red isn't your color,"_ she added, and with that Leon finally trusted her, and himself, enough to let his hand slip from her shoulder. 

Something wasn't right, but she wanted to pretend it was fine, and there wasn't much more he could do. Leon knew there was no winning Ada's game. You either let her move pieces around, or flipped the whole board over and didn't get to play anymore. The flipping temptation was at its strongest right now, but he would always relent. Leon re-positioned himself on the floor, turning to face the woman but placing more room between them. 

His comment was finally about to emerge, finally--casual and flippant and with just enough spice to make him feel smug, as though he'd nudged the board when she wasn't looking and couldn't do anything about it--when he was interrupted by a subtle beep coming from his pocket. He hadn't checked in with Hunnigan since the beginning of this hellish cross-country trip, and she'd have his head if he didn't answer. 

He gave Ada a pointed look, which he knew she'd understand, and flipped open the communication device. 

_"Leon, it's been hours--"_

"No update, I am just sitting on a train like a good boy," he joked, turning on the charm, hoping to ease her lecture. It worked. 

Ingrid chuffed, but then shook her head. _"I have something to tell you about those prints."_

"I'm listening." 

_"They were registered as classified but it didn't take long for the Department of Security in Canada to get back to me. They were classified to THEIR government, not ours. Meaning they belonged to an American. It took me hours of combing, because these trace records have been deleted, but...Leon..."_

"What is it?" He tried very hard to sound curious. 

_"They belong to Jack Krauser."_

Leon nodded, betraying what he already knew, and said aloud, "Well...that answers one question." 

_"How would he even still be alive? There's been zero record of him since Spain, and the EU gave us a full report on all involved persons. He was reported as dead. Even if he faked his death somehow, he's been quiet for this many years?"_

"I guess he found something interesting enough in Canada to risk his vacation," Leon joked. "Any other updates on the facility?" 

_"None,"_ she said in an almost annoyed tone. _"Private land, private owner. They get a very small government grant for some laboratory program that supplies vital drug components, but that's it. The place barely exists on satellite, and it looks like there's no one there. Whoever works there mgiht be involved in anything from the black market, money laundering...to..."_

"To worse?" Leon suggested, with a flip of his hair. "We'll find out soon. Do you have a tracker on me?" 

_"You're just four hours shy of the property line. I don't know how you think you're going to get out of there though. I could request a helicopter but it could take some time. That's very remote airspace and no doubt the Canadian government would have questions."_

"Well, I'll update you when I arrive," he decided, "And we can go from there. Leon out." As he closed and pocketed the device, Leon finally mustered up his signature smirk to Ada. "You sure you don't want to sit this one out?" 

\----------- 

**ADA**

Even now he echoed her own habits. The entirety of the yin to the yang, making one shape even with the differences. She buried her own concerns and he insisted to be no worse off. Torn between amusement and exasperation Ada chose to allow the former to take precedence. Some things would never change, including the blond agent’s tendency to rebuke her few chances to demonstrate acts of kindness. The only thing missing was the scowl that usually accompanied--  
_Ah, no, there it is._ The spy kept her face neutral even though the predictability made her inwardly smile as she noticed, from her peripheral, the change in his expression only a moment before he claimed to be ‘fine’. 

Her attention drew back to Leon when his pocket vied for attention. The look he shot spoke volumes and it almost gained a roll of her eyes. As if she were the type to announce her presence during a call involving a government of any nation. 

Maybe she would lean in and photobomb his chat with a stereotypical peace sign and mischievous grin… If not for her own always-contained poise Ada may have snorted derisively. 

Wind whipped through the crack in the door unexpectedly forcing her to clutch at the edges of her coat. Fabric pulled tight around her stomach guarding against the sudden onslaught of icy chills. Her mind wandered, considering the mission now that she was feeling more alert, yet she still caught every word of the ‘private’ conversation. As far as Ingrid knew, Leon was in fact alone. It seemed Leon still held the same company even years later, though the woman’s voice threatened to force Ada to reminisce of autumn woods and sepia landscape. Pointed refusal kept the memories at bay. 

_“They belong to Jack Krauser.”_ She heard Hunnigan inform Leon. 

A shadow passed over her expression, eyes gaining a murky depth as her mood instantly soured. Trees flickered by in the hazy light, mere wisps of lines that blurred in their speed. While not foolish enough to disregard the possibility, Ada had not yet confined her thoughts to the faith that Jack actually had survived their encounter. Now, it was indisputable… possibly. There still remained the slim chance that someone else had used his prints or that the tested items contained echoes of previous handling. She wasn’t stupid enough to believe it, but filed away the consideration for a later time. For now, it was best to assume the prints were fresh and that the gung-ho soldier had not perished. 

The light in her eyes dimmed impossibly more. This would be twice now that he had wriggled his way free of death at her hands. It was starting to become personal. After all, she would have to rescind her statement. Lord, the paperwork involved if this ever got out, not to mention the reprimand from superiors. 

Unacceptable. 

Ada Wong did not make mistakes, officially, and she would be damned if the slug whose obsession with power seemed to rival only Wesker’s-- _speaking of slimy creatures,_ she almost smirked—would tarnish her record. Where once there would have been begrudged admiration for his tenacity, now she felt only annoyance that tightened her throat. If Jack were involved then she could assume his vendetta had only grown worse with-- 

_“You sure you don’t want to sit this one out?”_

Leon’s voice yanked her from internal considerations, the call having ended. Gaze shot toward him quicker than what would be her normal habit, and despite herself, Ada actually smiled. Thoughts that had forced a pensive, even unhappy, look upon her face were washed away by the delight sparkling in her eyes. At least she could count on one thing: Leon’s timing was impeccable and his dry humor often matched her own. 

“And deny you the only chance for scintillating conversation?” She purred, her old tone returning unexpectedly. “Leon,” his name held the same warmth she’d heard from him, however brief that had been, but the look in her eyes shifted from one of calm to a gleam of determination, “I wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Krauser would not walk away this time. If she had to squash the man beneath her heel until even his smoldering remains floated away on the wind, she would. 

This time would be the last. 

If Wesker ever found-- no, she wouldn’t even entertain the thought. 

It was bad enough to feel as though she were under his thumb, she would not permit him the knowledge of her mistake. There had been enough fuel for the fire when she had barely been able to bargain for her life. She would take the knowledge of Jack’s continued survival to her grave, filed away among the many other things that only she knew. 

Tempted to inquire his thoughts on their old 'friend' resurfacing, Ada instead opted to comment on their journey's progress. 

“The sun is falling.” She breathed. 

The light had grown dim, their path taking them away from the land of eternal sun. She looked back at Leon after glancing at the door. “You should rest.”  
It wasn’t a suggestion and concern glittered in her eyes. The emotion disappeared as quickly as it had formed. 

They still had a few hours left if the train continued to run at its current pace. Her injury was clear yet tended, but this was twice now that he had bled without apparent cause. Curious as she was to inquire the reason, she refrained. If things were to progress smoothly, or as smooth as possible considering the situation currently tilting the chess board, she would need her prized piece in top shape. 


	13. Off the Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap:  
Ada and Leon are on a train heading for a Canadian facility that may hold the answers they seek.  
The teenage girl is currently on the run with Jack Krauser.

**LEON**

It was a rainy, and thus a normal day in London, but the fluorescent lights in the laboratory betrayed the quiet grey pallor outside. They illuminated the blue sheen on Maria’s hair as she leaned against the door frame in an anticipatory manner. She saw the male’s eyes flicker away from the computer screen momentarily, but then they landed right where they had been before. 

“Well?" Her stern cockney was evident even in the single syllable. "The meeting’s in ten minutes.” 

“Good thing I emailed you my report promptly at three-fifteen this morning eh?” came the reply, the sharp contrast of the heavily accented Spanish as noticeable as the intense lights against the window of grey fog. 

She waved her hand dismissively, stepping into the room. In response, the male pushed his chair away from the large laboratory desk, but did not stand to greet her. These days, he hurt too much to waste energy like that. Had Marie noticed the pin-thin reddish-pale lines threading their way up his neck and even across his jaw, she would have still been privy to only a glimmer, a fraction, of the scar tissue on his body. 

But she was more interested in what he had to say; one arm splayed out interestedly toward him, and the other gripped her padfolio. She looked meeting-ready. “Yeah, but what’s the word on the source of the antibodies that were produced, you said you were almost done testing...?” 

“Not a mycotoxin,” he relented. Well, that was easy. He clicked his pen against the smooth enameled desktop. 

She didn’t seem to think so. The woman’s dark eyebrows lowered in confusion. “But….” 

In the ensuing silence, the pen clicks were the only measures of time. Finally Maria scanned her eyes upward, seeming to be deep in thought. “The multiple sources…and the enzymes.” 

“MVOCs,” he nodded, pleased, and then droned out, “microbial volatile organic compounds. How many? What kind? Is their potency due to the extreme rate of metabolism? I do not know any of that yet.” He shrugged, and was reminded of pain with a twinge in his upper back. 

“But it’s a good start,” she nodded, growing more enthused as she realized the wholeness of her report had just increased. 

“Ms. Baugh,” came a voice from the door, and both researchers recognized the deep tone. “I’m here to escort you to the meeting room.” 

The INTERPOL officer wore his sunglasses inside the building, which ordinarily would have been a source of mockery, but the intensity of the lights in the room made it less laughable. He nodded emotionlessly, and Maria departed the room with one last hopeful glance toward the mysterious Spaniard. 

He didn’t return the glance; she noted that his blue-green, strange eyes were already glazed...he was back into the research, lost in time and thought. 

_________ 

The preteen sat excitedly as the man withdrew the box from his own suitcase; it was a simple cardboard thing, the type sold in art stores to save old photos, but of course she had no way of knowing that. Confinement in a lab had left her so ignorant of the world that she didn’t question the grey canvas-covered box. Instead she tore it open the way a smaller child would dig into a Christmas box. 

The dark green LSVW rattled on through the snow, Krauser’s paid driver silent and watchful as his two passengers sat cross-legged in the back of the cab. Around them were their own hastily-packed bags, a mini-arsenal, mostly belonging to Jack, and several dubiously obtained crates of survival items. 

Now the item contained in the box was illuminated from the dim light seeping in the windows, and it contrasted from the dull olive green of the military equipment--a royal purple, embellished tome engraved with multiple gemstones and two large, leather buckles that wrapped around the entirety of the book. 

“It’s so….” 

“New?” 

“Beautiful!” She ran a finger across one of the sapphires. “But yes, why is it so new? You said this was written during the Baroque period.” 

“The what?” his slightly redneck accent slipped as he curled his lip, his icy eyes conveying minor confusion. He looked up from his methodical rifle inspection and magazine removal. 

“Baroque.” For never having been in school, she had the proper bossy tone of a schoolgirl. “You said this manual was written by the Los Illuminados, when they were in the Salazar castle.” 

Jack massaged the bridge of his nose, looking more and more like a haggard father of a teenager. “I said that Saddler gave it to me. When he revived the cult they reprinted the books for the honored higher-ups. I naturally got one when they did the ceremony with the dominant plaga.” He snarled a bit at the word ceremony, as though he found the idea ludicrous. 

She did not notice or take heed of his own slight moment of reminiscing; Jack rolled his eyes and imperceptibly shook his head at the aftermath of saying the word ‘ceremony,’ but the girl was moved to a sudden trance. Her ears rang, the engine of their vehicle slowed to a dull roar, and she sensed rather than saw the blond man. A powerful sadness, one too strong to bear, overtook her thoughts, and she felt an overwhelming desire to pull away. Whatever this was, she wanted no part of it. With strong will, she squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head, as if shaking off a biting winter wind. The emotion faded. 

Perhaps if she were older, or in fact, had emotional maturity, the girl would have wondered where the sadness came from, or why it was so unbearable. Or why, out of all the emotions she could connect with, this was the first unfiltered emotion that leapt from he to she. Perhaps. 

She might have also pondered on how readily she relinquished contact or curiosity with it; after all, she had been plenty curious about his memories. About the castles he saw, about the flickering candles and the howling winds in his mind. Even about the gun he carried, or the woman he so desperately wanted to kiss, despite his anger. But that cold, steely bleakness did not ignite curiosity or empathy, and had she wondered about that, she might have learned something. But she didn’t. 

The purple book sat heavily on her thin, knobbly knees. Krauser withdrew another weapon, this time a submachine gun, and frowned at it. 

“Thank you so much for this.” Her pale hands clung to the volume, her fingers digging into the leather spine. Jack’s irritation seemed to fade, and he half-smiled in a flicker before returning to the task of separating his magazines from their rifles. Private agency flights were still a pain in the ass, criminal organization or no. 

“No problem,” he said after a long pause. But she didn’t even seem to notice; the girl was already flipping through the illustrated pages, excitement growing at familiar sketches and passages. 

_____________ 

The energy it had taken him to pull off the smirk gave Leon the momentum to lean back, relaxing the too-tense muscles against cold, uncomfortable metal. The rumbling of the wheels against the tracks was more pronounced now, and he shifted to plant his feet down in front of him. 

Why was he so tired, anyway? He mopped the blood from his lip. Was now really the time to ask himself those questions? Nope. His ears weren’t ringing, were they? You know what they say, he heard a friend from decades ago chime in. If your ears are ringing somebody’s talking about you. 

Leon turned, still smirking, toward Ada and was shocked to see her smile. Though she always looked immortal, the smile elevated her to an almost imaginary creature, something too strong and fragile and too close and too far from this planet, and the unexpectedness caused Leon’s subtle smirk to fade into a far more serious, even penetrating stare. 

_“And deny you the only chance for scintillating conversation?"_

He didn’t even blink at the slow re-warmth of Ada’s regular, melodic tone. Instead his keen stare flickered, from her eyes to her lips, and he finally felt the wave of fog lift from him. Oxygen rushed into his skull, or so it seemed, and the agent’s clarity returned in time for him to blink suddenly as Ada said his name. 

_“Leon. I wouldn’t dream of it.”_

It was his turn to smile, or Leon’s version of a smile anyway. Still subtle, and with more creasing around his eyes, but it felt good to do it. Better still was the reassurance, however sarcastic it might have been, that Ada might wait a few more hours before ziplining into the distant future. 

He hadn’t even pondered the realities of Jack Krauser’s return yet. The thought crossed his mind now, shattering the illusion of peace, and Leon exhaled loudly. The moments were too fleeting. Less to Ada than himself he muttered, “I already came to terms with Krauser’s death before I killed him.” What a strange thing to say, especially since the only untrue part of the statement had obviously been the part about killing Krauser. 

It did drum up concern because Krauser likely meant a tie to Umbrella, or whatever Umbrella ghosts roamed the dark corners of the earth, and though he anticipated their involvement by now, he still resented that he had to be suspicious. Agitated, Leon stood and paced toward the open edge of the car. He leaned his forearm against the sill, staring for the first time at the forest, at beyond the forest: foggy, snow-drifted mountains lined the horizon. He scanned the rail cars in front of him in their silent, icy walls of metal. 

He peered into the dimming grey in front of the open train car as Ada spoke, _“The sun is falling. You should rest.”_

He gave a nonchalant look, tossed over his shoulder, implying her unyielding tone and his own resistance to authority were at odds, but old and boring practical Leon had the floor this evening. He looked at his hands, removed his gloves lazily and took slow steps across the rattling wooden floor as if contemplating her offer. 

“Only if I take second watch.” He had a feeling that getting Ada to sleep while he took watch might have to involve martial arts, rope, and some severe head trauma, but he was too tired to force that issue for now. After a nap, he could probably handle the fight. 

The blond drifted back down to his seat, lamenting his headrest of steel, and nodded towards his companion. “And I can’t sleep if you hurt yourself again, so don’t do that.” It was a rare moment indeed when Leon could lecture Ada so assuredly, and he savored the moment with another smirk and flared nostrils. 

Against every fiber of his instincts, with his intuition screaming faraway in the distance, he closed his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it's been a while since we updated this. Life, y'know? We won't promise to speed up our posting times, though we do genuinely want to thank all of you that follow this story, have given kudos, or have shared encouraging words. Hopefully, these new chapters make up for the time you waited! -the writers of Leon and Ada


	14. Rock and a Hard Place

**ADA**

There was something she couldn’t pinpoint in his stare and that fact alone made Ada suddenly feel very uncomfortable in her own skin. She could always read, always play the game, keep herself one-- or even ten, honestly-- steps ahead of the other pieces on the board; making herself more akin to a player than a piece. But in this moment she could not, loathe as the spy was to admit it even to herself, read him. 

Leon, of all people. 

Not to say she always had him pegged, but she was usually within a breath of the bullseye if not directly in it. Now, though? Ada was at a loss. Between his sporadically-timed blood loss and his raw honesty of concern for her, she felt her own grasp on mental security slipping. Were things bad enough he also felt the need to hide it from her? Were things actually fine and she was overthinking the situation? Much as it pained her, she had to resign to not knowing. Which, for someone of her line of work and with such a reputation that she prided herself on, it could quite literally be pained. 

A quirk fell upon her lips when he insisted on who would be on guard and when. Only once his eyes closed did Ada allow herself to lie back against the cold steel of the train car. She couldn’t completely allow her walls to crumble, but at least in this moment she could ease up on their rigidity a bit. 

Ada thought back to mere seconds ago when he’d been staring at her before he’d wandered to take a gander at the fleeting scenery flashing by the open door. Her eyes had followed his when they had dropped their intense blue stare to her lips. Unbidden, her heart had picked up its pace and her breath nearly caught, though she was able to focus through the thrumming in her ears. All too quickly the moment passed and she was able to exhale silently once he moved away. In her vulnerable state she may not have been able to guard against any tells, should he have looked too closely. 

_Small victories._ Ada mentally muttered to herself, even her inner voice carrying that twinge of bitter regret. Things would always dance along a line between them that was both strained and comfortable. 

Each minute they traveled the train began to make more noise, almost as if they were coming out of the most heavy of the snow. It would be a relief to see a little less accumulation, even though she deeply loved the white fluff. Unlike before, when she’d so eagerly held the clumped snow, where it washed away all for a clean slate it was now tainted, like her, like the blood soaking the ground in the arena where she’d gone head on with the bear. The sight of the white substance flying by made her feel queasy so the spy looked back at something that would ground her mentally. 

**Him.**

He seemed… peaceful. For once. It was sweet… and heartbreaking for any who knew him intimately. It was a rare thing indeed, far more fleeting than a snowflake, to see Leon look so pacified, and she knew, regrettably, that it wouldn’t last. It never did. For either of them. Though she was far more skilled at keeping the effect from her face. 

The mobile in her pocket buzzed and her expression soured with the speed of a bolt of lightning. Ada didn’t have to view the caller ID to guess who it would be. Sure enough, the name read ‘unknown’ and the screen blipped incessantly as though requesting-- more like commanding-- that she pick up immediately. Ada snuck another glance at Leon; sleeping like a babe… or at least asleep enough that she could take a private call. 

Ada braced against the floor and wall, awkwardly cradling her phone, and limped away from her companion. She rounded the broken boxes and very few debris that littered the floor, trying to distance herself, hopefully to muffle the conversation should he awaken. Being certain to keep the phone away from the door enough that she could communicate clearly, but close enough that wind would wipe most of the incoming chatter out for any distant eavesdroppers, she thumbed the screen to answer the call. 

_“Report.”_ Static jumbled the demand, but she was familiar with it enough. 

“Young, female.” Ada breathed in natural husky tone. Her injury made itself known but she squelched it away with conscious effort. “She may still be injured but she has fled. The staff is trying to cover their mistake, but they couldn’t hide it from me. The girl must be resourceful if she’s gotten this far. 

I’m on the trail now. In less than thirty minutes I will be at the site we discussed. If it’s as off-grid as it seems, then signals will be difficult to come by.” She lied through her teeth as easily as she gracefully rolled out of bed in the morning. 

She would reach the facility much sooner and her tech could almost always guarantee a signal; no way in hell was she going to reveal this to him, though. Not after their last rendezvous. The muscles in her neck held shadows of the pain from his iron-locked fingers. Ada resisted reaching for her throat to rub it. No need to fuel his ego and let him know he had left a lasting impression on her. Sunglasses stared her down as though they could bore right into her very soul over the handheld screen. 

Contemplation was written across his expressionless face, noticed by her only from the experience of working with the tyrannical man. If she knew him, and she wasn’t fool enough to say she did but she could at least use the term ‘lightly familiar’, he was digesting her words and debating on insisting for more information. Best to jump ahead of him without being obvious. 

“Oh,” she began, coy as ever, with a smirk barely teasing her lips, “another thing.” She paused, a mockery of deciding whether to bestow a treat played with all the convincing elegance she was capable of drawing, and then tilted her head as if she had chosen to share it after all. “It’s not yours. The parasite has either evolved or has been tampered with, perhaps even improved.” She took a breath, tasted blood, and swallowed it without so much as a twitch of her eye. “Tests have proved futile. This new substance corrodes most materials within seconds of host failure. Sample extraction is still a priority though obtaining a living specimen would be the most beneficial.” 

She could hear and see his vocal chords thrum in deep thought. Always contemplating. Asshole. He nodded after a moment and set his fingers together in a steeple pose. 

_“I expect another report in two hours.”_

The screen went black and just as quickly lit back up. It brought no sense of relief. Ada briefly entertained the idea of letting the call go, but she knew she couldn’t. Pipe dreams and all that. Ada answered it, steeling her expression against the next demands and scrutiny. 

“Yes,” she concurred, “up north beyond the border. The facility is where the intel suggested. The woman is far younger than assumed though. She’s also wily and moves quickly for someone with her injuries, which implies either a remarkable pain tolerance or some form of a healing factor. Either is concerning, perhaps the healing even more so, since the parasite never exhibited the ability before now.” 

_“Keep us updated.”_

Ada moved her thumb to end the call but her superior’s voice made her hesitate. 

_“Ada,”_ the robotic voice of a changer warbled, _“remember, last chance. No mistakes this time.”_

This time when the screen went black Ada actually collapsed against the wall. Anger trickled through each vein and she bit her lip to contain the sound bubbling in her throat. Insulting. She hadn’t made a mistake, according to their records, and she knew it to be a ploy to force her to work twice as hard. And dammit, if it wasn’t going to work in spite of her wisdom to see it for what it truly was. 

They knew how to push her buttons and keep her one step ahead of the rope that always hung just over her head. Well, It may not matter now. Whether it was the noose or Wesker’s hand, one way or another there was a tightening sensation around her throat and she knew it was only a matter of time. At least, if she were lucky, the infection writhing through her would get her first; bittersweet as it was. She tried to push away from the wall and found she couldn’t. The most she could muster was the effort to slip her phone back into its pocket. 

Emotional waves bombarded her, battling the fatigue, pain, and worry. Finally having a moment to herself with Leon presumably sleeping meant she could allow herself a momentary reprieve to embrace fully everything going on with her. She was locked between two titans and to make matters worse Leon was trying to tug her from between them with his constant barrage against her morality and self-acceptance. He didn’t need to say a word for her to find the need to remind herself that she’d chosen her path long ago. She didn't even want to stew over Krauser right now. 

What fresh hell had she gotten herself into this time? 

She pushed against the wall again and did little more than bounce back against it when her non-existent strength failed her again. It took all of her energy simply to stay upright against the surface, her chin tilted down to her chest and eyes closed, each breath wheezing faintly from her chest to expel from her parted lips.


	15. Blame

**LEON**

Miles ahead of the runaway train car a note fluttered in the bitter Alaska wind. Previously, it set on the inside of the nondescript medical facility, but the broken glass had caused that same chilling draft to sweep in and scoop it up, depositing it along the mold-covered lamp-post at the end of the property line. 

Whatever the granite slab by the railroad track once identified the property as, it was now illegibly covered in a strange mold. Velvety black, with a luminescent sheen of forest green mixed in its own dimples traced over the rock. The contrast of these spores against the white snow made for a stark landscape, inky black weaving along the industrial road in rows like waves of cold lake water. 

The spores found the snow inhospitable, the emergent trees and light posts and signage far less so. The mold had not spread to cover the paper that fluttered stubbornly against a spot of ice, dripping under condensation from the lamp above. 

No one would read the notes on the paper.  
They were meaningless. 

\--believe the subject is somehow altering thoughts? What I do know is that sleep makes the workers more suggestible lately. They agree with her more after working long shifts and staying on the quarters here. The last big storm we had that snowed the shift in for the weekend...so many interconnected, strange dreams and everyone was suddenly empathizing with subject, conversating even. 

Wouldn’t be the first testing done on sleep suggestion, but my worry is...who is testing who? I wonder if it has to do with the triple regrowth and repair of diseased cell tissues during REM sleep? 

\--definitely something strange going on here. I’ve got workers flat-out refusing to conduct routine tests. Will follow up with Jack later on recommendations. Wonder if he has immunity to these suggestibilities? 

I think I’m going to reach out to a sleep specialist, not sure how to explain this situation. 

\---- 

“You trust that bitch?” 

‘Bitch’ to ‘Ada’ was ‘good hair’ to ‘Leon’ ...two words that just sat together beautifully, that were used as descriptors from friend and foe alike, that seemed permanently nestled in the DNA code next to each other, barely discernible from their counterparts. Peanut butter and jelly. Ham and cheese. Eggs and Tabasco sauce. Chris and unnecessary bro-rage. Whiskey and ...whiskey. 

_I can’t believe I miss her._

Leon was dreaming again, dreaming of Raccoon City. He always heard Annette and Claire, always felt and heard Tyrant’s fist against the broken rib as it punctured. He always felt Annette’s bullets pepper into his vest. Though over the years the memories had changed, distorted and warped as though he were watching a static-covered TV layered with dust and a failing audio connection. Whiskey and on-and-off-again sleep meds also dulled the clarity of the dreams, sometimes numbing them altogether, so that Leon could awake with the familiar sight of BE GLAD YOU AREN’T HERE ROOKIE fading away into a normal morning fog of confusion. 

Traumatic dreams were different. They were virtual reality games with a hare trigger, gun pointed at his brain stem, ready to activate every nerve with a single event or internal sight. But, thanks to whiskey, those didn’t happen much anymore. In his twenties, Leon broke a few nightstands, dragged a few unfortunate romances out of bed while screaming at them to get out of the fire or grab their gun. In his thirties it was more likely he would wake into a panic attack or angry rage over an imagined noise or intruder. With the right flask, even those events were rare now. 

The trauma had mostly moved from his sleeping brain to some other place--his core, maybe, his mind giving up on trying to work out the issues during sleep cycles. Instead it had been booted from his mind and attached itself to his soul. 

It dulled every sense, physical and mental, to a debilitating degree when he was doing anything normal. It gave him power, adrenaline, calculation, when he was doing everything else. It caused him to drink. To blankly stare when he wasn’t busy. To halfass every human interaction, and slowly begin to care less and less about everything as time went on. 

It was killing him, but at least it wasn’t causing clear, disturbing nightmares. 

This clear dream was disconcertingly lucid as Leon stared down his gun at Ada. He already knew he wasn’t going to shoot her, but now he vocalized that she wasn’t going to shoot him, either. Instead of the relieved, nearly withheld smirk he’d given as she lowered the gun, Leon screamed inside his own head MOVE OUT OF THE WAY. He knew what was coming, but wasn’t in charge of his body. Annette’s shot rang out behind him. 

Again Leon noted his own prior actions. The sample was dropped from his hand as he reached for Ada. Training that would come in following years would never allow for such a mistake, a mistake that haunted him deeply. Now, his gaze moved from the vial as it slipped over the catwalk, to Ada, and years of guilt and shame were erased. Who cares. Fuck the sample. 

Someone changed the channel inside his head. Leon shifted in his sleep, a slight frown threading across his face. His eyelids flickered, then moved. Behind them, his grey and almost faded irises began to scan the nothingness. His breath quickened, though there was no one to hear it over the loud rumbling of the tracks. 

At first the channel was just static. It seemed like someone was trying to tune the antenna. It was calm and peaceful; Leon had no idea how long the static lasted; it felt almost rejuvenating. But then Leon saw Sherry. She was dressed in a meager hospital gown that looked stained with dark patches. She was blond, frail, pale as she’d looked years after Raccoon City. Her silken hair cascaded around her face as she sobbed and kicked. Two hospital workers dragged her toward a machine, their faces hidden behind the typical face shields of biohazard environments. Wait. 

Leon tried to move, found that he couldn’t. He was watching from someone else’s eyes. Someone who was gripping the edge of the one-way mirror so hard it was about to break. Sherry screamed at the sight of the machine, and a doctor entered the room by the mirror, sighing loudly. 

“You would think by now the subject would comply without use of force,” he chided. 

The not-Leon voice was gruff and disdainful, but cautious. “Why not try a sedative then.” 

The greying doctor looked skeptically over his glasses. The older man had a distinctive Canadian accent, whereas the others was gruffly American, almost lilting. “Cell regrowth after damage is always at much higher levels when there is central nervous system activation present. In other words, if she’s not afraid to die, she won’t heal as fast.” 

“And why does that matter? It’s still ungodly fast.” 

“Because we need to perform these tests as accurately as possible for their future use,” the doctor was done explaining and he snapped the cover on the tablet he was tapping on. “Feel free to go wait somewhere else.” 

__________ 

But that must have been a traumatic dream, because now Leon awoke in a rage. Maybe he sputtered Sherry’s name, again lost in the loud rumbling of the tracks. Like a clumsy, stupid tree falling upright, he plowed through the stack of broken pallet wood he’d been laying near, attempting to stand without over-correcting. But he stumbled back and then his fist found the metal wall. Punching it backhanded, he swiveled and aimed for another spot, this time bending the crossbeam and only pausing on his third drawn-back fist when he realized what had awoken him. 

The grade crossing predictor had been triggered, the doctor’s voice drowned out by an alarm. The railroad gates. Leon moved in a fluid motion to the open car side, kicking and punching a series of barrels and debris out of the way. The pieces flew like kindling out of the side door and the overzealous agent himself almost flew out as he haphazardly grabbed the lip of the metal. 

Wind was cruel as it cut into his face where an uncharacteristic snarl already lay, and he surveyed the scene. Sure enough, there was a road ahead, that crossed the tracks on a curve. The crossbucks and red lights stood out against the dimming sky and white snow. Tendrils of black criss-crossed over the gates, which dropped reluctantly despite their heavy burden of snow and ice. 

Leon was already viewing what lay behind this crossing; a cold, dark industrial area with too-clean windows and a compact power yard sitting innocently to its left, automatic solar floodlights taking over where the electricity had obviously failed. They littered the place, as though a snow-locked inhospitable work area needed theft-deterrent. 

Leon caught this scene in a moment’s glance and then turned, retrieving the rifle and flinging the strip over his back, his jaw ticking. He could jump from here. The bank was probably fifty feet, but he felt invincible. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, he just knew, somehow with the rage filtering into his blood, that he would land the jump. Just as he turned toward the open car, he remembered -- Ada. 

“The bitch,” he echoed earlier from Annette, but this voice wasn’t Leon’s. It was more of a growl, barely human. He saw the sea of cargo in front of him, and the blond stomped forward in a manner less Leon, more Tyrant who loomed in his own nightmares. Most of the articles were flung out the side door, but some cascaded behind and broke around Leon. He was causing a veritable tornado. He knew she was over here, he could almost smell her. 

Dim streetlights coming into view illuminated the too-pretty-for-here face, and Leon forgot his brute strength and seemed to sway back to his less trained stance of bygone years. His pistol was withdrawn, sloppily, and Leon stumbled forward, almost thrusting the gun toward her like a lance. He held it one-handed, unprofessionally, the silver glinting from the approaching streetlight as his hand shook. Not with fear, but with something else, something more primal, and even more deadly. 

His finger slipped through the trigger guard. The grimace on his face was removed as he attempted to cough up words, stringing them clumsily into a sentence. The inflection almost made him sound shocked or confused. Each word was halted by a pant and even in the icy air, Leon’s forehead was covered in sweat. 

“I lost the G sample because of you.”


	16. Out of Time

**ADA**

The sound of half-shattered items and rampaging steps brought her out of the haze, though barely. The stomp of feet sent chills down her back, each vertebrae coating in metaphorical ice until the hairs on the nape of her neck stood up. Memories of a meaty fist encased in black leather flashed behind her eyes, the towering once-human staring her down with an emotionless gaze. 

A flood of adrenaline whipped through, pumping in her veins enough to help her stand while only leaning against the side of the train car with a single elbow. Her coat’s fabric slid against the metal but she caught herself, breathing heavily from the small effort. 

She’d wasted too much time lingering in the past and now it had caught up to her. It was making her second-guess herself and her surroundings. Yet again, Ada was reminded of the severity of her predicament. She needed to keep herself grounded, to remain here, in this time and this place. 

_“I lost the G sample because of you.”_

What little warmth was left vanished as her blood ran cold. Ada turned, eyes aside in search of him, until she was askew from facing him. He was focused on her. All on her. Once, she would have been flattered. Now, she felt unease. She sidled, cautiously, turning fully to face him and stare down the chamber pointed at her face. His stance was familiar yet strange, as if he’d forgotten how to be himself. Even the way he held the weapon was dissimilar to his usual control. Whatever was going on, Ada knew that she did not want to discover if he was willing to pull the trigger this time. 

Maybe it would make things easier if he did. One less thing to mess his day or cause his scowls. One less spy in the world making everyone’s day a little longer, a little more troublesome, a little annoying. 

She _wanted_ to live, though, even with all of the past weighing on her shoulders as heavily as the memories of actions to complete objectives. Able to shrug them aside or swallow them down just enough to continue ignoring them didn’t mean she never felt or thought about them; only that she was disciplined enough to keep herself from allowing it to take hold more often than not. 

The spy used what little strength she found to ebb slowly around him, never turning her back. Ada wrapped her left arm around her abdomen in attempt to stifle pain while her right hand splayed its fingers at him in silent admonition of his possible action. Each cautious, painstakingly slow limp brought her from the corner where she’d been pinned like an animal to around him and into the open space of the rail car. 

Her eyes never left the gun other than to glance between it and his face. 

His expression wasn’t one she recognized. Again. What was happening to her? To him? 

They were less than five miles from their destination, her half-hour estimate having been a lie to give her more time before contacting her superiors with another update, and she wondered if she’d ever make the next call. Leon’s expression chilled her to the core and a well of dread bubbled within her. 

The wind whipped through the open door of the train, sending ebony strands flying around her cheeks and the fur of her hood angrily rustling. Each back-step brought her more into the biting cold assault until she had nowhere else to go. The train rumbled on, wheels shrieking when they ground against the rails with unexpected friction and the wind became a roar around them… or maybe that was the sound of her pulse in her own ears. 

“Leon.” His name slipped through her lips, the only word she could muster. 

She could see his finger caressing the trigger. In that second, she knew how dire the situation truly had become. She stared into his eyes, paint-worn lips parting as though to speak again. Her eyes locked on his, those worn-down and pale blue she knew so well. In the rarest moment of moments, perhaps caused by the collapse of her health, hers swam with all the unspoken emotions and a silent plea to him as if calling to his very soul not to do this. Everything she’d ever wanted to say glimmered in those hues of hers and she began to lower her arm tha she'd used to keep him at bay. 

The walls were crumbling as they almost had back in Raccoon and she knew she was finally staring at death’s door. Poetic that her end should come from her beginning; while it had been far from her first assignment, Leon had been the pinpoint on which her life had turned— at least in the sense of thawing her heart or similar sentiment— and now he would be the pinnacle on which it ended. 

Emotions deepened in those amber-hazel depths, mouth tugging in sorrow and regret as she faced her last moments with Leon. 

The train jolted violently when the wheels hit a patch of oozing substance solidified in growth over the track. She stumbled with the movement, arms reaching out to find some purchase to keep her footing but found only air. Her foot slipped at the edge. 

And Ada disappeared, surprised fear cracking her usually unreadable visage, tumbling out of the open door in loss of balance as the train continued to whip along its path. 

——————— 

A grunt in retort accompanied what would have seemed to be the hundredth question about the parasite and the cult once known as Los Illuminados. 

“It’s in your book.” 

“I _know_ what’s written.” She sassed him with disdain. “I want to know _more._ If the image in my mind matches your description. If it’s as wondrous as I imagine.” 

Krauser didn’t respond. A huff expelled from her chest and she sat back against the seat, book clutched in her lap and fingers absent-mindedly tracing its cover. Pout trembled her lips in frustration. Any gratitude she had felt at receiving the gift was overshadowed by her anger that he refused to share his personal knowledge. 

“They called you a failure, you know.” She said nonchalantly, stare locked out the window at the frozen landscape zipping by them, her mean girl streak synonymous with her age rearing its head. Why hadn't the blond man done it yet? She grew inexplicably angry with her lack of influence, try as she might, and it boosted her bitterness towards Krauser. “Said they only took you in because no one else would. Not even your old boss.” 

The repetitive motions as he disassembled and reassembled his weapons for the eighth time halted. 

She almost grinned, pleased with herself for striking a nerve to the same extreme as he had hers. She glanced over, but seeing him frozen, the look on his face and the lack of any expression, made her instantly regret her jab. Her shoulders slouched and she clutched the book tighter. The blond man was instantly forgotten. 

“I’m glad.” She confessed, unable to bring an apology to her lips for fear it would fall empty and opting instead for honesty in place of her bitterness. “If your worth had been realized, then I’d still be alone.” Eyes relayed the truth in her words when their gazes met and after a moment’s longer pause he resumed his actions. 

“It was… bloody.” He finally relented. 

“Oh.” 

“Not like yours.” 

She responded with silence, contemplating the new information about the parasite versus her own. 

“We’re here.” 

She stared out the window again looking at the jet that would take them to the castle she’d only dreamed of ever seeing. The metal beast overwhelmed her senses and she gasped in awe. She’d never seen anything like it. Excitement forced her up from her seat to cling to the window with palms pressed against the glass. Breaths fogged her view, book balanced on her legs while he stuffed his gear back into the duffel bag. 

A smirk tugged Krauser’s mouth at her reaction. 

The LSVW veered and made a sharp U-turn next to the plane. Jack opened his door and climbed out, waiting for her to follow. Slinging the bag over his back, he walked briskly to the plane, with her trailing close behind. Wind swirled snow around their feet and they climbed the stairs in haste with her pushing her way ahead of him to rush upwards. 

She stood in the aisle, turning a full circle in wonder at the sight of its bleak interior. To her, it may as well have been a floating palace. 

“Can it really fly?” She asked incredulously. It looked so very heavy from the outside, she couldn’t believe it. 

“Yes.” He grunted again. 

She turned, eyes brimming with anticipation, heart in her throat with realization. “We’re going home, Jack.” 

He paused in placing the duffel bag on a seat and stared back. He nodded and didn’t brush her hand away when she reached out to squeeze his arm. Much as he didn’t speak about it, she knew he did care. They gave each other purpose. She needed him as much as he needed her and the guardianship he had taken upon himself made them both feel like they had a place in a world that rejected him and created her.


	17. A Ghost Story

** SPAIN, present day **

Paola was thankful for her large teenage appetite for American sitcoms; it wasn’t often that she had to make small-talk with British pedologists while standing in the foothills of the Cantabrian mountain range. In fact, that had never happened before today. Copious episodes of Friends had prepared her for this moment, though. The younger woman’s voice betrayed her enthusiasm over speaking English while conversing on Green Spain’s marvelous….greenery. 

She was also a bit relieved that her visitor had chosen the same stiff, regulated business class wear despite the fact that the entire visit was field study. Both women looked a bit absurd exiting the rental SUVs in their sleek heels, slacks and jerseys. In fact, they even seemed to be slight stereotypes, the Spaniard with a smooth ponytail and dark pinstripes and the Brit sporting tamed strawberry-blond curls and a beige jacket. 

Paola, a geochemist, ached to venture away from the meeting point and into the hills. A large outcrop faced the neglected rural bus stop and their parked rentals, assistants and attendants, as if to tease Paola, “good luck making it up here in those shoes.” Luckily, both women had commented on the other’s outfit upon arrival, and both had packed their backup wading boots and June-approved floppy sunhats. Along with the field testing equipment, now rolled out and jockeyed at the meeting point by the Company’s attendants, were two well-worn duffels containing a quick change. Neither woman was new to this.

Amanda was already shrugging out of her jacket, kicking a pump away casually. 

“...found a distinct pleasure in that hypothesis, myself,” Amanda finished, removing her other shoe. Paola’s eyes drifted away from her small-talk companion and toward the long, badly paved road that stretched out in either direction in front of them, having wound up the first few slopes out of sight. Amanda turned to follow Paola’s eyes, and sniffed in approval. “I take it that’s your biochemist then?”

“Yes,” and Paola grinned despite her wish to appear aloof and uneager. “You’ll really like him. We spent a lot of time together this spring at the Madrid lab...he’s…” she gestured with her hands, the wind tousling her hair as she shook her head in defeat. “He’s something.” 

“Don’t tell me,” and Amanda cocked her head, surveying the modest sedan as it slowed. “He’s a typical Spanish _casanova_...a ladies man?”

Both women laughed, but Paola blushed. “He’d love to hear you say that! No, he can be a little awkward at first, but er...let the wine have some time.”

“It can have all the time it needs. Especially if it keeps up this blustery sky,” lamented Amanda. “I did not leave my Island of Depression to come here and NOT get a tan.” 

Paola removed her rubber boots from her bag and scoff-laughed. “I don’t think we give the Canary Islands much competition this season.” 

The unremarkable vehicle soon rolled to a stop along the roadside, slightly downhill from the women. Both paused as the driver stepped out, and Amanda looked quizzically, not understanding the not-scientific-looking chauffeur uniform. She had driven herself and her understudy; the reason for needing a service driver eluded her. 

Her internal question was answered when the driver leapt out of the seat and hurriedly opened the back door. The first glimpse of ‘Something’ that Amanda got was actually a wooden cane, and then her blond eyebrows raised in surprise as the figure stood. He wasn’t old, she marveled a bit naively, but as he paused to balance himself on the car, she saw that he had a pronounced limp. 

She could see why the other scientist called him “something” all right. He wore half-business, half-cowboy attire, silver studs and unmistakable adorned men’s winklepickers. This bizarre outfit strangely fit in to the rural, mountain atmosphere, and Amanda wondered if he’d mixed up Zorro and Clint Eastwood movies. 

He let out a strangely loud yawn-sigh, but stopped short, even pausing in his uneven steps, as he noted both women in a state of undress. “Aaahhh, getting started without me? That’s no fair.”

Amanda laughed aloud at his accent. Yes, he was something. The man caught her laugh and grinned. It took at least ten years from his age. And now he awkwardly didn’t speak as all his effort went to ascending the hill with the cane. A grimace threaded through his eyebrows, and Amanda almost blurted out an offer of help, before second-guessing her own ignorance at Spanish customs. She and Paola instead turned bashfully toward their own shoes and jackets, relieving the scientist of the audience watching him painstakingly ascend. 

“Amanda, this is Martín. Martín, Amanda, visiting us from sunny London!” Paola extended her arm toward both in a sweeping gesture. Amanda caught what almost looked like a flicker of ...sadness? Anger? Something untold moved across the man’s eyes as his name was spoken, but before Amanda could even ponder on it, he’d stepped in for the traditional Dos Besos greeting. She had practice with the uncomfortably intimate, un-British hello over several vacations or travels to other countries, and the gambit of mutually awkward to overly touchy seemed to radiate throughout the generations and genders of the other participants.

She was surprised, though, at Martín’s delicate manner, almost as if he thought she were fragile. That was neither Zorro or Clint Eastwood; he didn’t even make the loud kissing noise that several men had made. The gesture seemed to confirm Paola’s high esteem of the arguably multi-faceted personality. He wasn’t just a sleaze, then? Why did she care? Wasn’t she here for science? Amanda snapped out of it as the man pulled away and began some other bluff, another comment on the pairs of heels sitting in the Spanish mud. Unlike the pair, however, he seemed content to keep walking in his own high-price fashion shoes.

“Are you sure you’re not going to change?” Paola snipped. Martín seemed familiar with the terrain and now walked slightly ahead, his slow pace being fine for the others who carried survey equipment and camping gear. 

“I didn’t get all dressed up for the ladies just to ehh….” he pointed his cane at Amanada’s shoes. “...Put on puddle stompers. Is that what the English say?”

She decided to quicken her pace just enough to match his, and laughed. “Well, technically I was born in Scotland, so. I’m not really sure.” 

In the swing of his arm, his jacket fell away enough that she noticed a strange addition to the glittery-cowboy appeal. A suede harness was over his torso--not that strange for a chemist doing field research--but it held something she’d never seen from a chemist on a hike. The holster was long, leather and heavily detailed. It was an old American style...the “California slim jim” as it was called. Its presence surprised the woman so much that he caught sight of her agape jaw. 

Martín’s strange greyish eyes flickered from her mouth to his own chest, and he grinned again. “What, are you a ballistics hobbyist too?” The way he enunciated the word was meant to be joking, and a deep blush rose from her cheeks to her ears. But she’d already been bested once, so she found her words quickly. Thunder rumbled in the distance. 

“Just wondering what kind of soil you’re planning on studying out here with that.” 

As if to counter her cynicism, a long, low howl emanated from the faraway treeline. Everyone in the group paused, the fog rising from the mountain now seeming particularly ominous, and Paola tightened her grip on her own camp bag. Martín’s gaze drifted forward again, and he said in a rather contemplative tone, “You wouldn’t believe what kind of things you can run into out here.”

\-----

Back-and-forth showers punctuated the rest of the day, but it was pleasant for all three of the researchers. Both they and their cohorts were familiar with, and comfortable in, nature. The fees provided by the agencies covered more than adequate supplies both research and campsite related, so by the time the aforementioned wine was opened, the entire group was sprawled out in camp chairs under a large canopy where a fire roared. 

“But no,” Amanda interrupted, “I want to hear more of these ghost stories. You won’t stop talking about the castle, and yet everyone in the municipal airport acted as though they didn’t speak English when I asked.”

“Asked, about what?” Martín was conservative, lazily sipping his first glass as though he were a newcomer to alcohol. “They probably didn’t.”

Several of the Spaniards laughed at this, and Paola, her inhibition slipping away, eagerly spoke. “It’s bad luck in this entire area to even mention it! You can’t just go around being an outsider, speaking with locals.” 

“Well, what’s so bad about it?”

The younger men and one woman, understudies for each scientist, glanced at each other and the contractors hired to move supplies and samples. If they were more native, or had more inner knowledge, they kept it to themselves as Amanda glanced around the fire at the orange-tinted faces. 

She stared a bit longer at Martín, but he kept his thoughts to himself and swirled the wine glass instead. Paola seemed surprised, but unhindered, at the silence. 

“Castle Salazar!..._El Castillo de Salazar_,” and now she struggled to keep her embellished tone in only English. “Deep in these mountains...a sleepy shell of an old medieval hero. Some say, appointed by God himself.” 

Thunder crackled, either to enhance or refute this claim, and Amanda’s eyes widened despite her usually professional demeanor. “Appointed to do what?”

“Drive out the….monsters,” Paola whispered the last word, and now a few nervous giggles spread through the group. Amanda kept her eye on Martín, expecting some joke, but he was sipping his wine and making unbroken eye contact with Paola now. 

“What kind of monsters?”

“They say this area used to home a savage tribe. Not even pagan they were. Just people eaters. They were not human. Human posers. Some kind of...skin walking parasites.” 

“And this...Salazar?” 

“Came with the Reformation and cut them all down. He had a war with them. And brought the Holy Sword. But the rumors are….well...some say. He didn’t quite finish the job. That the pestilence remains. That’s why you don’t want to run into any locals. Maybe they want to drag you back to the deep mountains and…” a very dramatic throat-cut pantomime was made, and now the younger group continued laughing but sat forward, interested in the story. 

Only Martín reclined in his seat, his cane draped over his long, crossed legs. He stared at the wine glass thoughtfully. 

“So then what is this, a local legend?”

“It’s the truth, if you listen to anyone from the municipality.” Paola finally had a break to drink.

Amanda stared, waiting for the punchline. None came. “Er….a pestilence. Ergotism?”

She was referring of course to the fungus that grew on crops, notably corn and wheat, causing a sensation of madness, hallucinations, and paranoia. During the Middle Ages, ergot might have been responsible for a persevering fear of witches. Well that and the inescapable plagues and devastation everywhere that demanded a mystical explanation. 

She didn’t expect Martín’s loud snort as a response. The woman’s head snapped to the side, and he seemed to bashfully recede his statement of ridicule. 

“What? You disagree?”

He shrugged. She could sense there was more there, hiding. What was he thinking about? More importantly, what did he know? His ankle bounced almost nervously, he bit his lip, subconsciously quieting himself, and finished off the wine in his glass. 

“The castle still stands as an omen against the evil,” Paola finished, drawing herself up and pouring more wine. “The government doesn’t want anything to do with it. The property deed sits on the desk of a local judge, but no one other than a Salazar can live there. The Salazar gift from God was immunity toward the plague.” 

“The...you’re referring to the bubonic plague?”

“No,_ Las Plagas_.” This explanation did nothing for the Londoner. Paola sighed. “The pestilence, the plague of the mind? If anyone but a Salazar, ordained by God, tried to enter, it would take over his mind. But the Salazar family can control them. The only protection even the animals have from it...lies in their souls.” 

Rain continued to patter around the canopy, and again wolves howled in the far distance. 

“So where is this castle? Are we going to be close enough to get any tourist pictures? A refuge against pestilence sounds like a good Facebook cover.” 

Martín subtly shook his head at this even as the others chuckled, as though he didn’t approve of the levity. That didn’t seem like him, since his entire repertoire of jokes were rooted in levity, but it was slightly sobering to Amanda. She again wondered what it was he knew. 

“No one really knows,” Paola finished with a smug gesture and sweep of one leg over the other. “It’s all deeply overgrown now. It hasn’t been seen lit for...ten years now? Some say if you appeal to the church that a map or a pilgrimage trail will be revealed to you, but to the rest of the world it’s a castle full of ghosts. Lost to time, and all those souls within it….souls invaded by the pestilence of Las Plagas...they are--”

“Stranded there, forever,” Martín quietly finished. “Left in a memory. Unable to move on, or leave.” His eyes rose from the empty glass, and panned around the campfire. “Angry at the injustice, staring out over the sacrificial altar silhouetted with colors...indigo, violet, crimson...a stained glass window that fails to illuminate its own insides. Blood on marble floors, candles to light the way. Circles inside a broken fortress hiding a secret too dark to ever be understood by man’s reach, whether religious or scientific.”

Paola’s eyes were so wide they glimmered with firelight. Amanda’s jaw was open again. He didn’t speak for another few moments, but finally waved the glass. “Can I get a refill, perhaps?” 

\---

LEON

Leon very rarely lost himself in moments, or even thoughts. Truly the closest he'd ever come to meditation was still interrupted or paused by his obsessive safety checking or wondering if he was alone. However, in those moments, Leon's strength was still noticing the minute details in front of him or behind his eyelids. 

What perception didn't catch, intuition did, and he could count on one to notify the other, both hemispheres of his brain checking in to situations seeking clarity. Even if the point of clarity was to sleep or meditate free of thoughts. In the same way, even in his strange awakening state, observant Leon was present in some tucked-away corner of his own brain. Unreachable maybe. Not in control. But watching. 

When his finger moved into the trigger guard, that inner eye caught all of Ada's subtle movements. This was not the Ada that had met with him for off-duty events or called him on his birthday. Not the Ada that Chris screamed at him for years didn't exist, the one that Claire somehow believed did exist despite not having any physical proof of her.

This was not the Ada that Leon couldn't help himself for trusting. Even after she proved over and over that he could, he was still mad that he was right about it. Cautious Ada was still an Ada that read and wore confidence around Leon. She was the one with all the tricks up her sleeve even as those tricks benefited or flat-out saved his life. 

In short, he may have been wary of Ada, but she had never once been truly wary of _him_. 

Until now, it seemed. He could read it on her, painfully realizing that he was probably on the very, very short list of people that Ada usually didn't have to bluff her safety awareness around. 

But, good Ada, there she was doing her catwalk around him as he flung the pistol derangedly toward her. In a moving train, with a loud hulking and stumbling agent who was mostly sleep talking. Despite the wound on her side and her obvious exhaustion. Even in his rage Leon couldn't help but appreciate the fluidity of her movement and silhouette of her legs in those boots. 

Leon felt some familiarity, some pattern in Ada’s movements. The woman couldn’t ever just stand still, could she? The haze of anger still prevented him from feeling his own busted, bleeding knuckles (punching barrels had drawbacks) or really analyzing anything other than the scant familiarity of this other person in front of him. 

And yet she was here, and then she wasn’t. She was on a train, hair no more than one percent frizzy and still more unkempt than he’d ever seen it, and then she was back on the ledge in her red dress. And then back to the train. Speaking of, the train groaned up ahead as it unwittingly switched tracks. It would probably derail, that observant and detached part of his brain whispered to Leon.

Damn snowy climates to hell. She really was weak, he marveled as he saw her gloved hand rise, her other covering her core. The medic in Leon begged to be loose and go to her, not only in chase of a physical remedy but comfort and reassurance as well. It was something he was admittedly good at, but that had no bearing on his will to help her specifically. He would have tried even with a one day cop experience. He did, he had, he reminded himself. Who the hell did he think he was? Leon was actually proficient at tending wounds, even those gotten under pathogenic circumstances that warranted further examination. Further examination wasn't possible in most of the places he worked. 

Ada's body language sent another cue though. This one was less fear and more confusion. What was wrong with him? Well, what was? Leon didn't even know. He was angry, he was afraid. The present memory--present-present?--of Raccoon City boiled in his mind and he didn't have the proverbial cold water on his face to pull him away from it. Maybe he didn't want to. He had never focused on this pain and rage. He didn't have the time. 

The one time she looked at him, REALLY looked at him instead of dancing around him the way she always did with eye contact, body language, emotions. The ONE TIME, and his eyes were full of goddamned tears. Leon’s jaw clenched and he almost bared his teeth, the only expression he could muster against the mental onslaught in front of him. Inside him. 

When her arm moved, his moved with it in a strange physical mirror. Her movement was slow and calculated for survival, his was twitchy and overstimulated. She drew her arm lower, and his moved away, the gun leaving its target. Leon was beginning to realize that he was holding a gun. For a few precious seconds the dark backdrop of Raccoon City’s bowels ceased its revolving door appearance. 

Special Agents didn't have time to rest and decompress. It was sleep, follow up, report, study. Train. When did he have time to process? What were his needs in relation to the men he'd lost, the citizens who'd died, the children without parents, the scientists whose good work was stolen just to pump up the egos and wallets of a few madmen? 

"Leon."


	18. 18.  Trust

LEON

But there was the cold water. He actually blinked--

** _///....."She can sense and almost get a slideshow in the brain during a sympathetic nervous system response of laboratory animals. When fear in an infected host is activated, it transmits to HER nervous system, and it appears instead of just feeling those sensations and having the same neurons fire, she can wield some kind of...intuitive decision making in that state. But when the fight or flight pattern is interrupted by a soothing or otherwise frontal-lobe engaging experience, the bond is broken and cannot be regained quickly."))....._ **

** _Krauser turned his head sharply as the pale fist slammed down onto the suitcase she cowered by, the noise drowned out by the drone of jet engines warming up. _ **

** _"What?"_ **

** _"lost it," she seethed, but wouldn't speak further. He frowned, knowing her good mood would return soon. _ **

\--and the sound of the train clacking away started again. What was he doing? The gun wavered, some muscle memory keeping it up, but now Leon's eyes kept blinking as if clearing away tear gas. Ada's gaze was so torn and full of sadness. He didn't understand, but gave what he hoped was trustful eye contact. 

She had to trust him, he had to make her. (How many times had he said that to himself?)

And as his lips parted, cracking in the frost, he didn't even manage the word before the raven hair flew away from him, the pleading, forfeit-raised hand sliding into a white abyss and silhouetting her again as it had so many years ago. 

Just like that he was alone, and Leon's voice caught in his throat. "Ada."

What the fuck was wrong with him? What had he done? What the fuck just happened? Was he losing his mind, finally?

Leon pushed away from the open car and his wobbly legs carried him back to the pistol. In a deft motion he had it holstered. Leon was not afraid of the weapon, but he terrified himself. Years of haphazardly drinking whiskey had always led to poor decisions like weekend-TV marathons, late-night breakfast buffets, and the occasional flipped snowboard up a tree. Not brandishing firearms. 

He pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling the familiar ringing again, but this time he chose to ignore it after several seconds. He grabbed onto the car’s side doorway, still steadying himself at this recent near-derailment, and he realized he’d already set himself up to jump from here. And now as he leaned out the door again, judging his own direction, Leon noticed that the strange awakening had left him with more than leftover nightmare rage. He actually felt different. 

No time to worry about that now. This train would be stopped by a warehouse, whether it knew it or not, and he had to find Ada. It was hard to see for sure, but the white bank dropped maybe forty, fifty feet. Icy fog made the would-be fluffy surface glisten, and Leon doubted very much that he would be cushioned upon impact.

A few steps backward and he took the car’s length in two strides, while grabbing the M4 by the barrel, hugging it toward his torso.. It was a strange moment of clarity, in which he noted the lines and rivers of mold that broke apart the snow. Some were iced over, some weren’t, but then Leon’s boots grazed the ice. His right shoulder came down to complete the roll. 

The first patch of muck on the tracks behind him was not the last, and even as the wind whistled past Leon’s ears he could hear more whines and rattles as the behemoth above him prepared for its turn into the loading dock a half a mile away, going far, far too fast to stop. Stopping wasn’t an issue though, as the growth ate away at the railroad ties and turned the tracks into a coagulated bog. 

Three, two, one, and Leon hit the hard icy snow drift at his shoulder, barreling down as though he were a battering ram. How high was that bank? He tumbled a few full turns and finally arrived on his hip, sliding the rest of the momentum away and righting himself as though he’d merely tied a shoe. 

He didn’t feel like himself. This awareness actually did frighten Leon, as though he were turning into a zombie--one of his most frequent and boring nightmares. But instead of the physical changes brought on by most viruses he’d seen, Leon felt...better? Younger? 

He could almost hear Ada’s voice dripping with sardonic wit in response, blaming or commenting on his ego. And normally Leon would have felt similarly. He began walking, slowly and carefully, across the plateau of Arctic ground. It was his whole body--it felt...healed. That, paired with the strange rage he’d felt earlier, reminded him of the ‘master’ or alpha viruses. All of the so-called abilities that men like Birkin, Saddler, Wesker wanted, damn the consequences. Why was he feeling this now? 

Unwillingly he heard Krauser’s voice somewhere in the depths of his mind, silhouetted against a smoky industrial sky.  **WITNESS THE POWER** . 

Was that what this was? Why now? It seemed like it happened in his sleep. 

But, enough wondering. Leon was gaining ground in the direction the train had come from, and he moved to a light jog when a figure seemed to flit between faraway, barren trees. The movement was probably just a shadow, all black, black as the mossy goo he was avoiding in spots all around him. He still briefly glanced at it, and then behind him. 

The railroad crossing signal still alarmed, the gates down, the train passing the forlorn blocky cement structures and now careening to the side. As Leon predicted, the curve and the muck on the rails were too much for it and it began to derail midway, not even making it to the larger warehouse several hundred yards north before it twisted and lurched. 

He slowed to a walk. It was deafening, both the screeches of twisting metal and loud crashes from freight car after freight car dogpiling and skidding down the tracks in a lame secondary attempt at delivery. Someone could comment that it was rather comical the way Leon nonchalantly strode through the snow as the explosions began to sound. In truth he wasn’t focused on them. 

The empty facility sat on a hilltop, and it bothered Leon even more than the figure in the treeline. It seemed to be watching him with black, empty window eyes. 

The agent again picked up his pace when he finally saw what he sought; there she was, facing away from him, and he almost missed the shock of hair fanned out among the snow. “ADA!” he barked again, running now. It was definitely some kind of record, finding her this quickly and easily, and it probably didn’t mean anything good. But he didn’t care.    
  


ADA

_ Siren lights spun in red, white, and blue. The stench of death permeated the air and clung to her clothes. Three days and she still hadn't found her target. Ben Bertolucci was the sleaziest of snakes, hiding even from her. They'd agreed to meet and now she got to play a game of cat and mouse as her reward. Ada's lip sneered before dropping into a passive expression. She hated these games. His collection of data and dirt on his peers had better be worth the effort. Though, in reality, she sought information only on one. Whatever data would bring her closer to her objective would be considered gold in her books.  _

_ Ada sidled along a car and crouched. She peered through the stained glass of its windows to gauge the viability of her current route. A few of the undead shuffled back and forth or swayed in place. She could get around them easy enough. It was the hordes that she had to worry about. They could overwhelm an unsuspecting person as quickly as a summer storm would sweep in from a clear day. Slender fingers hovered over her thigh, ready to grab her weapon. The pistol had been taken from the corpse of an officer. It wasn't her preferred, but anything was better than nothing in this circumstance. _

_ Blood and drool filled her vision as a previously unseen zombie lunged for her. It crushed her against the car, hungry maw gnashing and drawing dangerously close with every lunge. Ada grunted, bracing against the living dead with her arms and pushing with all her might. Not only were they insatiable, they were stronger, too, with vice-like grips and eternal hunger. The commotion drew the attention of a few stragglers which began shambling her way. She struggled more and finally pushed the zombie to the ground. _

_ "Sorry, not my type." She said, quickly vaulting over the hood of the car and running for her next piece of cover. _

_ She pressed her back to the brick wall of the alley and took a deep breath. That had been too close. She needed to find Ben, and fast. Ada leaned her head back against the cool bricks and sighed. A groan in her ear made her eyes shoot open. She turned to see glistening teeth, soaked in blood with remnants of its last meal dribbling down its chin, and glazed eyes. Hands raised in stiff anticipation and the creature jumped for her… _

Ada's eyes opened to crystallized needles. A puff of snow scattered away from her mouth when she coughed from breathing in the white fluff. A groan accompanied stiff motions while she tried to move her neck. Perhaps it was best to just lie here. Let the cold sink in and drift off to the darkness that was trying so desperately to swallow her. What little comfort that it was all a dream— more a memory, really— was lost to the ache that consumed her attention. Maybe she should just lie here. Let her mind drift back in years to that cursed city. Let it consume her.

Let the cold take over her body.

Let the snow cushion her while she slept.

Let life slowly drift away.

_ "ADA!" _

Ada's eyes slowly opened. Pupils dilated as a rush of fresh pain swept through her. Reality smacked her in the face and she coughed again, swallowing more snow on the inhale. She knew that voice. Leon. Leon was here. Pushing up to her elbows, Ada rolled over to seek him out.

There, in the distance, she could see him running towards her.

If she'd had the willpower she would have smiled. A genuine one, rare as it was. Leon; ever the survivor. It took her little brainpower to deduce that he must have jumped after her. Idiot. He could have been severely injured. Stupid boy. For all his personal growth and increased skill with age he still harbored pieces of that young, seemingly-invincible rookie with that infallible spirit she'd met all those years ago.

The snow did little to cushion her as she rolled to her back. The icy layer was hard and unforgiving against her form. The pile of white beside her lie haphazard and broken, her fall crushing her through the layer of ice coating the rest of the drifts and gaps between trees. Somehow, she'd missed hitting one of them during her tumble. Small favors, she supposed. It didn't ease the ache overtaking her body or the buzz in her mind that kept her thoughts at bay. Closing her eyes, she mentally assessed her injuries. Superficial, at best. She needed to get up. To stand.

A shadow fell over her and she assumed it was Leon. Poor mistake. Heavy breaths fogged the air and she heard the rumble of a growl. Opening her eyes, surprise coiled around her heart. Charred fur and a muzzle dripping with black ooze stood not two steps away from her. She saw a razor sharp claws, each an inch thick, rise and rolled just in time to miss the impact where she'd once lied. Ice crunched and sizzled as the gunk-sodden claws crashed through its surface. Leaping to her feet, Ada somersaulted farther away, skidding to a stop on the ice and standing in a crouch. An enraged roar followed her and beat against her eardrums. It wasn't possible. The speed of the creature, and its determination, baffled her. In order to track them this far... It wasn't possible. The thought repeated itself in her mind.

The bear had returned.

Her hand darted to her thigh seeking her weapon... she brushed air. A quick glance around revealed the Beretta nestled against the dipping branches of a pine. It must have bounced clear as she rolled and impacted the ground upon her fall. She wasted no time heading for it. Ada dove for the weapon and tucked herself into a roll, grabbing it as she rose from the tumble. Spinning to her knee, she took aim and fired off three shots in quick succession.

Each hit its mark, leaving wounds in the bear's head that poured viscous substance.

The Kodiak roared and shook its body, fur bristling in the aftermath. It lowered its stance, preparing to charge. Ada narrowed her eyes. The marks across her stomach burned in an ache of memory. This time, it wouldn't be so lucky. She'd make sure of it.

"Shoot it!" She yelled at Leon, uncertain if he'd hear her over the roar of the creature.


	19. 19.  Not A Threat

** KRAUSER - SIX MONTHS AGO **

The ear-piercing wails were not soothed by the old standard of ‘hands over ears while wincing’, but that didn’t stop the lab workers from doing so. They really had no other recourse; the girl’s strange adaptive biology was inherently different from a human’s, even though she’d started out as a human embryo. One of those strange adaptations seemed like a sonic range in her vocal chords both super and sub. When she was tired of testing or perhaps starved of emotional interaction these tantrums occurred. 

Typically the researchers just halted tests, as the studies of this paralyzing scream hadn’t really been studied yet. Sometimes they clamped on heavy-duty sound protection, but that wasn’t working today either. 

The shift chemist, Dr. Tremblay, also winced as he strode into Lab 4’s office. “Can’t you give her some sedatives?”

“She’s metabolized all the tranquilizers we’ve tried,” Tiana answered. 

“Isn’t there anything else? Gas?”

“We....we could try, although--”

“Do whatever you need to do to shut that thing up!”

As the three yelled incoherently together, the doctor wisely motioned to exit the area. All three abruptly left, but paused in the hallway short of the hydraulic door that would sound proof them upon their exit. 

“Dr., you’re....”

“Dammit Colin, don’t touch me with your---is that blood on your hand?”

The trio surveyed each other, their gaping jaws almost comedic as the screams still filtered out into the fluorescent hall. 

“Your nose is bleeding, Doctor.”

“And your ears. Look at your hands.”

“Jesus, we’re all bleeding, we’ve got to go to decon NOW.” 

A shadow fell over the three white coats, and they heard the soft hiss of the door closing. It was a ridiculous scene now as a man clothed in black, face peppered with scars, sneered down at the bleeding technicians from behind a nonchalantly held rifle. 

“What the hell did you do now?”

“You’re that...mercenary....isn’t that right?” The doctor was having trouble speaking due to shortness of breath. He clutched his chest, feeling more blood trickle down his nose. 

The muscular man tensed at the word, but then snorted. “Yeah.”

“The soundwaves don’t appear to affect you at all....” Tiana was similarly gasping for breath. “How is that possible?”

Krauser looked with contempt from one person to the other, and pointedly slid the rifle back over his shoulder.  
  
“You tell me, you're the scientists. Guess I’m just better than you. Now what the hell did you do to get that kid screaming like that again?”

“The subject--”

“She’s a kid,” Krauser nearly spat. “You know what, never mind. I’ll fix it.” 

With another look of disgust he pushed past them toward the office, then paused and turned to hold out his palm. “Your key card.”

“...Excuse me?”

“I don’t have access,” Krauser rolled his eyes. “But this is the third time in a month that I’ve had to clean up your mess. Give it to me or keep on sitting here bleeding until you don’t have any blood left.”

Dumbstruck, the doctor clumsily withdrew the badge, and then nodded at his two coworkers to move toward the door. They could at least reach a safe zone with the tech level access.   


** LEON **

He refused to admit what he scientifically knew; the bold and headstrong and maybe even cocky aspects of his personality fueled a reward center in his brain that begged for more action and impulsivity. He was often gainfully rewarded by these moments, either in lifesaving maneuvers or some obscure fact-and-treasure-finding. The train jump had rewarded him with Ada. Finding Ada would reward him with...hopefully a believable apology for his unexplained stupidity. And hopefully finding her not wounded. 

The shadow in the trees moved, and his intuition nudged him to stop ignoring its presence. Leon could no longer reasonably ascertain ghosts from real shadows, and he reluctantly glanced away from where Ada lay, closer now. 

“Shit,” he muttered, seeing the bear, and now he realized Ada was moving fast, faster even than he. She rolled toward a black patch on the snow--a gun, not another mossy puddle--and he shrugged the shotgun out of its strap. He knew she would be firing soon, even though the blistering wind would probably swallow most of the sound, and Leon’s thoughts were correct as he saw, not heard, the blood-black goo ricocheting off the animal’s matted fur. 

It was burned, and stank. But somehow it had caught up with them. He didn’t understand, but as Leon’s run turned into a full-force sprint he saw its large, scruffy head roll toward him, and then back to Ada. 

It saw him, but it didn’t see him as a threat? He didn’t exactly have a ton of experience with bear-fighting but Leon saw the animal as the predator it was. It had to know or at least acknowledge that it was separate from himself. That he was another dog in the fight. But the thing didn’t even look twice. 

Leon could have taken this many ways, but he chose to be offended, realizing that even at his speed he could not reach the predator before it reached Ada. It had no concern or even curiosity about him. So he shouldered the shotgun and fired. This resulted in more black spitting from its torso, and Leon realizing that even though the beast was shaking off the shot angrily, it still hadn’t changed its focus. 

Distance was running out. He planted his heels out and grimaced against the ice on his right side as he slid between the pair in a macabre game of baseball. The bear’s gigantic paw had reared back, and now Leon fired again as he physically blocked it from the brunette behind him. 

Leon wished, as the bear roared with even more spite, that he had some kind of witty comment to Ada. Instead his head snapped to the side and he got out a, “You okay?” before another resonating bellow took his hearing away. Leon scrambled to one knee, then the other as the bear fell to all fours. He didn’t get the opportunity to see if she would at least manage a snarky response as it bounded and he made the committal decision to unholster Krauser’s knife from his chest strap, plunging it into the neck of the animal. 

This was committal because it did not stop the bear, but instead caused it to rear up. Even at Leon’s height he realized his boots kicked air. His other arm grasped burned, molding fur as he attempted to fish for his holstered pistol. Whether or not he could hold on to the thing long enough to get the spine-severing shot was up to anyone. Especially since the bear finally turned its focus toward him, and the lazy batting paw that hit him in the side very likely displaced a rib or two, feeling like a small car plowing into him instead of an arm. 


End file.
